(More) Pressing Matters
by Syl
Summary: Dick Grayson arrives at Wayne Manor, a cold empty place, shortly after his parents' murder: A re-telling of the Boy Wonder's well-known origin story.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: Dick Grayson arrives at Wayne Manor, a cold empty place, shortly after his parents' murder: A re-telling of the Boy Wonder's well-known origin story.

**Acknowledgements**: Some ideas and dialogue borrowed from _Batman: Dark Victory_ #8; _All Star Batman and Robin, the Boy Wonder _#9; _Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight_ #100; Gotham City map/points of interest from _Batman: Gotham City Secret Files and Origins_ #1; _The Brave and the Bold_ #28; _BTAS: Robin's Reckoning_ S2E2; _The Sandman_ #1. [Additional notes at the end.]

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to DC, Time Warner, and CN; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

**Copyright**: October 2012

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

(More) Pressing Matters

by Syl Francis

**[Mon., 21 Dec./0045 EST]**

The dark Gotham alley echoes with the sounds of fighting: flesh pounding flesh, surprised grunts, and cries of pain. These are accompanied by the occasional loud crash of a body being slammed against a metal dumpster and the distinctive whirr of a batarang flying toward an unsuspecting target.

The overcast winter night refuses to give up its denizens, barely allowing the rare glimpse of shadowy figures moving together in a deadly dance. In the center of this roiling mass, an even darker form plows through the others, quickly and methodically. Finally, after several minutes of urban warfare, the alley once again lies still.

The moon chooses this particular moment to break through the thick cloud cover. As it does, its silvery beams suddenly expose the six unconscious bodies, strewn haphazardly along the icy, snow-covered alleyway. If a passerby were to look closely, he might see that the men are each trussed up like Christmas turkeys, wrists and ankles secured by plastic tie wraps.

Of course, the onlooker might miss the silent black shadow in the shape of a man-sized bat swoop up the side of the five-story building and disappear among the Gotham City rooftops.

As the moon once again slips behind its dark cloud cover, the wail of approaching sirens acts as a reminder to all potential eyewitnesses that in Gotham, it is always better to mind one's own business. Besides, it is the winter solstice, the darkest night of the year. In Gotham, that's never a good thing…

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

It was past midnight. The city's numerous skyscrapers glittered like finely cut diamonds under the overcast night sky. Batman pensively stood watch over his city. The previous night's snowstorm had blanketed the city streets and dark alleyways in a pristine veil of white.

_The Old Girl almost looks like a blushing bride_, he thought. Except for the drug deal that he'd broken up earlier, it was a quiet night. _Not a creature was stirring_, he thought facetiously, _not even a bat-signal_. Perhaps it was time to call it a night—or morning—depending on your point of view.

He thought of the small boy he'd left safely tucked in bed a few hours earlier. His harsh jawline softened slightly.

When Bruce Wayne made the spur-of-the-moment decision to assume custody of Dick Grayson earlier that year, he thought that he'd only be providing him with the basic necessities—a roof over his head, a warm bed, and food on the table. Of course, other needs that only a man of his considerable means could provide were understood: a topnotch education, first-rate medical and dental care, and a (stratospheric) trust fund.

Plus, Wayne Manor had something even more important to offer: someone who understood what the bereaved boy needed—Alfred.

Alfred had raised Bruce after his own parents' murders. There was no one more qualified to help the boy through the grieving process than the very man who had helped and guided Bruce through his.

Batman made a noise deep in his throat, a cross somewhat between a growl and a snort. _A growl_, he told himself sharply. He was Batman after all, and Batman did not snort.

In truth, with all of the material wealth that Bruce could provide this one special little boy, the only thing Dick needed was the one thing Bruce had been unprepared to give him: a new father.

Batman scowled as he recalled his nearly catastrophic failure in the early days of his relationship with Dick. He remembered the special performance at Haly's Circus that March, nine months ago tonight, the night when both their lives were changed forever…

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[No Date/No Time]**

In his dreams, Dick relives the fateful day—his birthday, March 21. It had been the happiest day of his life and the most tragic, the day he lost his parents. He recalls a line from a book his dad read him once, "It was the best of times; it was the worst of times."

He sees it in snapshots, a slideshow on fast-forward:

…His mom making pancakes, leaning down for a kiss on the cheek, her sparkling laughter indelibly imprinted in his mind.

…His spraying Elinor, the circus' star elephant, with a high-powered hose, giving her a good scrub-down for her regal appearance in the circus parade that afternoon.

…His going to Pop Haly later that morning to ask permission to ride Elinor in the parade.

The slideshow usually slows down around here, but then speeds up again when he gets to:

…Pop, a gentle, grandfatherly soul, yelling at a stranger, shaking his fist in fury. The hard-faced stranger saying something muffled., smirking knowingly, as if he's holding all the cards.

…He sees the same man later that night under the big top, shortly before the Flying Graysons are due to go on. About to say something to his dad, his mom hurries him along as Pop Haly announces them.

"Ladies and Gentlemen…Haly's Circus proudly presents the Flying Graysons! Tonight, to celebrate his eighth birthday, young Dick Grayson will perform for the first time the '_Quadruple Spin of Doom'_…without benefit of a net!"

…The crowd gasps at his words at first, but then breaks out in excited cheers and loud applause. The clapping abruptly morphs into the sharp, whip-like sound of ropes snapping, while the cheers turn into horrified screams.

…He hears his mom calling his name as she slips away. "Dick!"

…He sees his dad twist his body in midair while reaching for his mom's hand. "Mary!"

…He finds himself kneeling between their bleeding, broken bodies. His dad looks at him, as if trying to speak but makes no sound. As he watches, the light in John Grayson's eyes goes out.

…His father's sightless eyes now haunt him in the dark. _"Why did you let us die?"_ They accuse. _"You knew what would happen and didn't say anything."_

…He recalls the police and the reporters and the questions…lots and lots of questions.

…He remembers sitting alone on an empty bench, as a warm jacket is placed gently around his small shoulders, completely swamping him. He feels a comforting hand rest briefly on his shoulder. He looks up into a pair of kind, dark blue eyes that mirror his own pain. The jacket belongs to a dark-haired man who is very tall and very well dressed. Something flashes in the dark eyes and Dick experiences a momentary connection with him, which is quickly tamped.

…He cries out as a pinch-faced woman from Child Welfare Services forcefully takes him from Pop Haly's arms. Elinor trumpets her displeasure and heartbreak, threatening to break free from her bonds. Dick slips from the woman's grasp and runs toward Elinor, who wraps him protectively within her trunk…

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sun., 12 Apr./0030 EDT]**

He wakes up abruptly, shivering in the cool spring night. Unable to go back to sleep, he lies there, staring up at the ceiling, seeing everything that followed in his minds eye…

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., Mar. 21/2345 EDT]**

The woman, who introduced herself as Dr. Cunningham, demanded that Pop Haly _"…Get that animal to release the boy this instant, or I'll have you up on charges!"_

Frightened, Dick gently signaled Elinor to release him and walked toward the woman. Taking him by the arm, she led him to his family's trailer where she ordered him to change out of his costume. He noticed that he still had the dark-haired man's jacket around his shoulders.

While he changed, Dr. Cunningham rifled through his dresser and stuffed some odd bits of clothing into a backpack she found tucked in his tiny closet. She paused at a pair of pajamas with a Superman logo. With a shake of her head, she went ahead and threw them in as well.

He was told he wouldn't be able to bring anything else with him because of lack of space, but in an atypical act of rebellion, Dick held on to his stuffed elephant, refusing to leave it behind. Reluctantly, he laid the too-large, man-sized jacket he was still wearing on his bed and walked away.

They arrived at an imposing cinderblock building surrounded by a high chain-link fence. They stopped at the gate, where Dr. Cunningham announced herself. Apparently, they were expected, as the gate opened automatically. They drove through into the compound.

Once inside the building, Dick was made to sit and wait on a hard plastic chair. Soon, he was led down a dimly lit dingy corridor, lined with gray, numbered doors. They stopped at number 5.

"You'll be staying here, Richard, until we can make more suitable arrangements for you." Dr. Cunningham looked down at him with cool, but not entirely unsympathetic eyes.

"Why can't I stay with Pop Haly?" he asked. "The circus is my home. We're all family there."

"Metaphorically speaking perhaps," she replied with disdain. "However, no one in the circus is actually related to you. Besides, an itinerant circus is no proper place for a child. I feel…" She paused and cleared her throat. "That is to say, _Child Welfare Services_ feels that you will be better off in a normal, stable home. You'll have your own bed to sleep in. You'll attend school. I know you'll be much happier." She gave him a bright smile that failed to reach her eyes.

"Dad always says that _normal_ is highly overrated," Dick protested. Realizing that he had just referred to his dad in the present tense, Dick amended sadly, "I mean…he _used_ to say that."

"Yes, well…we saw what that philosophy got him." Ignoring the boy's stricken look, Dr. Cunningham clapped her hands sharply. "Very well, time for bed. I packed you a set of pajamas and a few other necessities…toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush—that sort of thing. You can look them over tomorrow. So, I guess this is it. Have a good night's sleep, Richard. I will be checking on you in a few days."

And just like that she was gone, and for the first time in his life, Dick found himself completely alone.

The night's tragic events finally caught up to him. Lying down on the lumpy mattress, Dick folded in on himself, clutching Elinor, his toy elephant, to his chest. He curled his knees up and finally let the tears come.

His brief, but unhappy stint in the Juvenile Detention Center was the longest, most frightening week he ever had to live through. Later on, he felt that the less he remembered about those dark days, the better.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Fri., 27 Mar./0900 EDT]**

There had been one bright spot; however, a week later he was summoned to the Office of the Chancellor. As he approached the chancellor's door, he'd been nervous at first—nothing good ever came from being called before the head of the juvenile detention center. Bravely straightening his shoulders, Dick knocked and waited.

He heard someone say, "Come in," before turning the knob.

Chancellor Simon was at his desk and seated across from him were Dr. Cunningham and the same dark-haired man he'd met at the circus. They both turned as he walked in. The dark-haired man nodded in greeting. Dick began to feel a strange, panicky feeling seeping into his body. He had left the man's jacket back in his family's trailer. He'd felt real bad about that, but Dr. Cunningham had insisted. Dick wondered if he was going have to pay for it.

He shivered, suddenly afraid. He didn't have any money. He knew that some of the boys at the JDC were there as punishment for getting in trouble. Maybe he'd be made to stay here, too, as punishment for losing the jacket.

The dark-haired man looked at him with growing concern.

"Richard, are you all right? Are you cold?" He turned to another gentleman who was also sitting in the office. Until then, Dick hadn't even noticed he was there. He had a kind face and gentle eyes. "Alfred…he's shivering." As he spoke, the dark-haired man removed his jacket and began to put it around Dick's shoulders. He had an amused glint in his eye. "Let's not be making a habit of this, shall we?"

At his words, Dick's face crumpled into tears. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry…"

"Alfred, I don't know what—? Richard, what's the matter, buddy?"

"Here, let me, sir." Alfred went down on one knee in front of Dick and began to fuss with the oversized suit coat. He plucked a pristine handkerchief from the coat's left breast pocket and gently wiped the boy's face.

"There, there, young sir…To what do we owe this torrent of tears? I'm afraid that you've quite worried Master Bruce over there."

He gazed steadily into Dick's eyes, waiting for the boy to regain some semblance of control. When the tears and sobs finally slowed to a manageable trickle, Alfred prompted Dick with a patient look.

"I left it back in the trailer," Dick managed to whisper. "I couldn't bring it with me. I'm sorry."

Bruce and Alfred exchanged blank looks. "Left _what_ back at the trailer, Richard?" Bruce asked softly.

"Your jacket…the one from the other night. The one you loaned me." The boy didn't dare look up to meet Bruce's gaze. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Dr. Cunningham snorted in exasperation. "We're wasting time," she snapped. "Chancellor, Mr. Wayne, I have a very important committee meeting in another half hour, which I simply cannot miss."

"And we have a very important child's welfare to discuss, _Doctor_," Bruce said sharply.

"Important?" Dr. Cunningham scoffed. "He's little more than circus trash…and a gypsy, no less. Why, everyone knows they're all just a bunch of—"

"That's enough!" Bruce said, his voice dangerously quiet. He glared at her, fighting to get what Dick would later call his considerable Bat-temper under control. Months later, Bruce told Dick that at that moment, he had never felt so close to striking a civilian—a woman at that—in his life. He rose to his full, imposing height. "Alfred, why don't you take Richard outside?" Turning to Chancellor Simon, he added, "Chancellor, please have someone get Richard's things. He will not be staying here tonight."

"Now, just a minute, Mr. Wayne," Dr. Cunningham broke in. "You may be the _great and powerful Oz_ at Wayne Corp, but _I'm_ director of Child Welfare Services. _I_ decide where Richard will be placed…not you."

"Funny, you should say that because I just happen to have a court order that disagrees with that statement." He checked his watch. "In fact, I believe that my lawyers should be arriving just about now with all the necessary paperwork."

His words were met with a knock at the door. Giving her a grim look of triumph, Bruce opened the door. "And by the way, need I remind you that I also serve on the board of directors of CWS? As of this moment, the Attorney General's office is investigating why the civil rights of an innocent child were violated through false imprisonment. Your incarcerating Richard here, alongside violent juvenile offenders, is not only disgraceful…it's illegal." He turned to the Chancellor. "And you, Chancellor Simon, also have a lot to answer for…for going along with this."

"Great and powerful, indeed," Alfred murmured.

It was all over but the credits.

After that, things moved quickly. Dr. Cunningham, having been served a summons, left in a huff, arguing that Mr. Wayne "wouldn't get away with this." The army of grim-faced men in dark gray suits that had trooped in a few minutes earlier, left shortly after Dr. Cunningham stormed out. However, their whole demeanor had changed. As they left, they smiled and congratulated each other, shook hands with Alfred, and even ruffled Dick's hair in passing.

To be honest, Dick hadn't fully understood what was happening. In was only when he was led to a long, black limousine waiting outside the JDC's doors that he realized he was leaving.

His happiness was short-lived.

Once he found out that he wouldn't be going back to Haly's Circus, but instead, would be going to live with Mr. Wayne, Dick again shrank back into himself. It was a long, silent drive toward Wayne Manor that day, followed by many more days that were filled with the same oppressive hush…

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**End of Part 1**

**Additional Notes**: Thanks to my betas—Beth, Ellen, and PJ. As always their comments were critical and incisive; these ladies are professionals with the mighty editorial pen. Any mistakes you see are mine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary**: Alfred and Bruce worry that Dick is slowly disappearing into his grief.

**Acknowledgements**: At the end of Part 2.

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to DC, Time Warner, and CN; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

**Copyright**: October 2012

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

(More) Pressing Matters

by Syl Francis

**[Sun., 12 Apr./0200 EDT]**

Dick doesn't know when it happens, but somehow he slips back into a restless, troubled sleep.

These past few weeks, his dreams have been plagued by nightmares. Sometimes he wakes up screaming as he watches his parents' endless fall, until they are swallowed by the darkness far below. Most nights Alfred is there, murmuring soothingly. He stays until Dick drops off to sleep again.

Tonight—or, rather, this morning—is Mr. Wayne's turn. His large, warm hand on Dick's shoulder offers a quiet comfort. He doesn't say much, just gives Dick a drink of water, re-straightens his bedclothes, and takes up a patient watch over him. A look of pain passes briefly across his face, there one moment and gone the next. His lips twitch in what, for him, passes as a smile.

"Try to go back to sleep, Richard," he murmurs. "It's late."

Dick nods. As sleep overcomes him, he wonders, not for the first time, why his guardian's hair is still wet at 2:00 a.m., as if he's just stepped out of the shower. The warm hand on his shoulder enshrouds him in its protective cocoon as he slips into dreamless sleep.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sun., 12 Apr./0630 EDT]**

The morning sun awoke him gently, its warm embrace easing him into awareness. As he blinked his eyes open, he heard a robin singing outside on his balcony. Coming fully awake, his attention was caught by a brightly colored object on the dresser. It was an Easter basket, filled with chocolate bunnies; colorful, foil-covered chocolate eggs; and delicate, hand-painted egg shells.

Today was Easter Sunday. He'd forgotten about it. He wondered if Alfred and Mr. Wayne would take him to mass and the cemetery afterward. As he stared at the hand-painted eggs, he began to grow anxious and started to hyperventilate. Before long, he was shaking uncontrollably, knowing that he was overreacting but unable to stop himself.

He wasn't ready for this…

Hand-painted Easter eggs had been a special Romany tradition, something he and his parents spent hours preparing on the days prior to Easter. He and his dad ate eggs morning, noon, and night—carefully blowing out the egg white and yolk through toothpick-sized holes, leaving the shell intact—ensuring they had at least three-dozen empty shells to decorate. They then presented a personalized egg to each of the circus performers on Easter Sunday.

Pop Haly proudly displayed each of the hand-painted Easter eggs that Dick had given him in a special glass case. Pop said that each egg was a "precious work of art," which caused Dick to glow inside…

Alfred found Dick an hour later, gazing unseeingly at the Easter basket.

Later, Doc Leslie said that Dick was in shock and needed rest. She placed a plastic oxygen mask over his mouth and nose instructing him to take deep, slow breaths. The mask only made him panic even more, and he began thrashing on the bed. Unable to calm him down, Doc Leslie called for help as she hooked him to an I.V.

"Alfred! Hold him down, or he'll jerk the needle out and hurt himself."

As Alfred gripped him firmly, Doc Leslie injected a sedative into the I.V. line, and before long Dick descended into the terrifying darkness, where his dad's accusing eyes lay in wait…

As the days passed, Dick grieved in stoic silence, becoming little more than a wraith within the big, empty confines of Wayne Manor. He neither wanted to be a burden to his new guardian, who was a very busy man, nor needed to be babied and coddled. After all, he was eight now, more than old enough to take care of himself.

More importantly, he was a Flying Grayson, and Graysons laughed in the face of adversity. Besides, like everyone who'd ever worked under the big top, Dick knew that _"the show must go on"_ and that all good performers had to "_smile when they are low_."

And he did.

Or, at least, he tried.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sun., May 11/0730 EDT]**

Dick realized early on, especially after that whole embarrassing episode on Easter Sunday that he couldn't put anything over on Alfred. The faithful valet—more grandfather figure than personal servant—would place a gentle hand on Dick's arm when it seemed as though the boy's façade were ready to crumble. He also went out of his way to bake chocolate chip cookies, which were Dick's favorite.

Every morning, noon, and early evening, Alfred had the dining table beautifully set for two. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were always mouthwatering meals that rivaled the best five-star restaurants in the city.

More often than not, Dick was forced to eat alone, having _just _missed his busy guardian who had either _left early_ for work or was _grabbing something_ at work or was _meeting an important client_ for a dinner appointment. Whatever the reason, Dick hated sitting in the large, opulent dining room by himself and would have left his meals largely untouched if not for Alfred's standing watchful guard over him and gently urging him to take just one more bite.

Today was Mother's Day.

He and his dad used to serve his mom breakfast in bed on her birthday and on Mother's Day. His dad was only a fair cook, nowhere near as good as his mom. So, as a favor to her—and on pain of death from Pop Haly—they only did this twice a year. After all, it was a day for celebration, not an occasion to give his mom food poisoning and keep her from performing. (Something that had happened before Dick was born and about which Pop Haly still complained.)

Thinking of his dad's cooking and his mom's amused expression on being presented with yet another unappetizing breakfast that had been lovingly, if clumsily prepared—comprised of runny eggs, burnt toast, and paint-removal-strength coffee—Dick struggled with his own healthy, expertly prepared breakfast, which Alfred set before him.

He was barely able to take a bite, chew, and swallow from the fluffy, buttery pancakes served with a side of crispy strips of bacon, orange juice and milk. He knew that his pancakes were probably delicious, but they tasted like ashes this morning. He took a careful sip of orange juice to help wash down the bite of breakfast that was choking him.

"Master Richard, a young lad such as yourself needs his nourishment in order to grow up big and strong…just like your father and Master Bruce." Alfred tried to smile reassuringly through his worry. The dark circles under the boy's eyes stood out in contrast to his pale complexion. Also, Alfred didn't like the sharp angles of Dick's cheekbones, which emphasized his hollowed cheeks. How had he not noticed the boy's obvious weight loss? If this continued, he would have to ask Leslie to recommend a good child psychologist.

"My dad wasn't really a big man," Dick rejoined, not looking up. "Most of the best aerialists aren't."

He didn't add that those who grew too big to be caught by their smaller colleagues became catchers. It wasn't a glamorous job that won them the fame and adulation of their audience; however, it was a very important job because the flyers' very lives depended on them. While each of the Flying Graysons was a world-class aerialist in his or her own right, John Grayson had also doubled as the family catcher, not trusting anyone else with this critical role.

Dick shook his head. Mr. Wayne might be his legal guardian, the person who was supposed to take care of him, but Dick felt like that was only on paper. He was nice, but he was way too busy to be bothered by a little kid. Mr. Wayne would never take on his dad's role as Dick's lifeline, ready to catch him if he should fall. Dick only had himself to rely on now.

Dick looked at the empty place setting next to his and remembered the laugh-filled meals in his family's trailer. The Graysons hadn't had much in the way of material possessions—they couldn't, what with their being constantly on the road. But they'd had each other. They'd worked together, played together, and always eaten together.

And, on special occasions, the entire circus troupe used to get together for large, family-style potluck buffets and barbecues. Those days were gone forever now.

"I'll never grow up to be as big as Mr. Wayne." Dick shrugged. "It doesn't matter…I'm never gonna fly again, anyway."

Pulling out the chair before the empty place setting, Alfred sat down. He reached across the table, gently placed his hand on the boy's arm, and spoke earnestly. "Never say _never_, Master Richard. One doesn't know what the future might bring."

His appetite suddenly gone, Dick laid his fork down.

"I'm not really hungry, Alfred," he muttered, his head downcast. "May I be excused?"

Not waiting for a reply, Dick pushed away from the table and hurried off to his room.

Deeply worried, Alfred watched as Dick ran out the dining room. He knew that they were failing the boy. If he and Master Bruce didn't breach the walls the boy was slowly building around himself, they were going to lose him. He sighed recalling another certain little boy who'd done the same thing almost 25 years ago.

It was past time to have a long talk with Master Bruce…and Leslie.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 20 Jun./2200 EDT]**

While Dick struggled upstairs with his growing unhappiness, downstairs, Bruce had withdrawn into his cowled persona. Determined to bring the Graysons' murderer to justice, he was driving himself relentlessly, barely pausing to eat or sleep. He didn't want Dick to grow up as he had, bent on vengeance, angry that his parents' killer had never been caught…

Today was the first day of summer, and Bruce truthfully couldn't recall the last time he'd taken an afternoon to just enjoy the sun. He had a perfectly good outdoor pool, with a sun-splashed patio and comfortable outdoor furniture. He had a few fuzzy July 4th weekend plans, formulating in his head, that involved spending time with Dick.

Wayne Corp was a corporate sponsor of Gotham City's Independence Day festivities. He could arrange for VIP tickets to the grandstand to watch the parade. Maybe he could persuade Alfred and Leslie to have a backyard barbeque, complete with grilled steaks, burgers, and hotdogs. He and Dick could spend the afternoon in the pool or horseback riding—or just hanging out doing guy stuff. That night they could watch the city fireworks display from the vantage point of his Wayne Corp office. Or…even take a couple of blankets to Robinson Park and just lie under the stars and enjoy the show.

As the plans took shape in his head, Bruce thought back to a few weeks ago. He had been seriously worried about Dick. At the time, the boy had seemed to be disappearing into his grief. Alfred and Leslie both argued that Bruce needed to spend more time with the boy. He knew they were right; that he had to make more of an effort to connect with Dick, but he also believed that the boy would never get better as long as Zucco remained on the loose.

Still, following Dick's disastrous Mother's Day meltdown—which had come closely on the heels of his Easter Sunday collapse—Bruce attempted to spend more time with him. After a long consultation with Alfred and Leslie, they determined that what Dick, a natural athlete and acrobat, needed was daily, sustained exercise to keep him occupied both body and soul…

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Wed., 15 May/0600 EDT]**

A few days after Mother's Day, Alfred sent Dick to find Bruce on the pretext that he needed to speak with him. Dick found his guardian in the indoor gym, going through a _kata_. As soon as Dick appeared in the doorway, Bruce was aware of his presence, but ignored him, as he went through a complicated set of moves. After watching Bruce leap, spin, and kick for a few minutes, all while twirling a long staff from one hand to the other, Dick finally spoke up.

"Are you dancing?" he asked.

Bruce stopped, his breathing a bit fast. He took a minute to drink from the water bottle that he had sitting on a nearby bench. After a long gulp, he paused and looked seriously at his ward, giving the question due consideration.

"In a way, I guess you could say that it is a sort of dance," he said. "A very deadly dance."

Dick's eyebrows shot up, disappearing into his bangs at Bruce's words.

Chuckling, Bruce waved him over. "C'mere," he invited with a smile. "Here…catch!" Bruce said as he tossed Dick the _bō_ staff he'd been working with.

Dick caught it awkwardly. It was obviously too long for his small stature.

Walking up to the boy, Bruce spoke as if to himself.

"Let's see what you've got."

In the next few minutes, he _posed_ Dick with the staff—moving the boy's small hands until they were gripping the weapon as well as he could.

"We'll have to see about getting one sized for you," Bruce murmured. As he spoke and adjusted the boy's hands, Bruce continued correcting Dick's posture to improve balance. He forced Dick to stand up straighter and taller.

By the time Bruce was done, Dick felt off balance and uncomfortable.

"How does that feel?" Bruce asked.

"Umm…? Weird," Dick admitted. "If I tried walking on the tight rope right now, I'd need to have a harness and a net ready to catch me."

"That bad, huh?" Bruce said, his lip twitching slightly.

Dick grinned. "Yeah…I'd probably do a face plant as soon as I took the first step."

"Well, we can't have that." Bruce gestured vaguely at him. "Take up a stance where you feel well-balanced."

Dick did as he was told.

"Show me some of your most basic moves."

Nodding, Dick took a step back, spun on his heel, and proceeded to demonstrate why he was rated as one of the world's best acrobats at the age of eight.

Impressed at the ease with which Dick executed highly difficult, Olympic level moves—a double layout in, pike out; double twisting double layout; and quad twist—Bruce stood up straighter as the boy leaped, achieving unbelievable heights from both a standing position and a running start.

_I think Dick will make a fine student of the martial arts…_

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**End of Part 2**

**Acknowledgements**: Some ideas and dialogue borrowed from _Batman: Dark Victory_ #8; _All Star Batman and Robin, the Boy Wonder _#9; _Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight_ #100; Gotham City map/points of interest from _Batman: Gotham City Secret Files and Origins_ #1; _The Brave and the Bold_ #28; _BTAS: Robin's Reckoning_ S2E2; _The Sandman_ #1.

**Additional Notes: **A special thanks to my betas—Beth, Ellen, and PJ.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary**: Bruce makes an unexpected discovery about his new ward. Dick has his good days…and his bad.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

(More) Pressing Matters

by Syl Francis

**[Sat., 6 Jun./0600 EDT]**

Before long, it was obvious that Dick was advancing at an incredibly rapid rate. In a few short weeks he reached a level of prowess that usually took a year to achieve. Of course, most boys Dick's age started at the bottom, while Dick was already an accomplished athlete. Adapting his considerable acrobatic skills to those of the martial arts came almost as naturally as breathing to the boy.

Plus, Bruce was picking up some pointers from Dick to help him improve his own balance and flexibility. Bruce doubted that he would ever reach Dick's skill on the high wire or any of the myriad gymnastics apparatuses he'd had installed in the gym.

The boy was just as comfortable fifty feet in the air—literally performing handsprings, cartwheels, and other feats of derring-do on the high wire—as most people were on the ground. Seriously, the boy knew no fear!

Bruce found himself envious of a move that Dick could do from a running start. It included a graceful leap, which was immediately followed by a flying triple spin-split kick combination. Dick could achieve some serious air and hang time—practically defying gravity.

Bruce thought he had seen it all; thought he'd tried just about every possible martial arts kick combination; thought he could teach Dick how best to use his gifts. Chagrinned, he privately admitted that even as a beginning student of the martial arts, Dick's acrobatic skills were miles ahead of his.

The boy was almost scarily good and a quick study, learning at a faster rate than Bruce himself had.

Bruce immediately saw that if he could adapt Dick's flying triple spin-split kick to a less-flamboyant flying spin kick (emphasis on only one spin), the momentum gained would add considerable power to his kick. And, depending on the need, he could use the spin-split kick to knock several heads at once.

Eager to help his guardian learn something new, Dick worked with Bruce for almost four hours, until Bruce was able to achieve sufficient height in his leap and gather enough power in his spin-split kick to accurately strike at more than one practice dummy. In fact, he hit with so much force that he ended up knocking off their heads.

Dick whistled. "Whoa…that was _awesome_, Mr. Wayne!"

Bruce gave him a half-smile in response. "Thanks to you, Richard." At Dick's answering, beaming smile, Bruce felt a hitch in his chest. He reached across and tentatively ran his hand through the boy's hair. "Hey, about this '_Mr. Wayne'_ nonsense. How about you call me Bruce?"

Dick nodded eagerly. "Okay, Bruce, but only if you call me Dick. It's what everybody in the circus called me. Except for Mom. She called me Robin 'cause I was born on the first day of spring, and on account of I'm a Grayson." At Bruce's questioning look, he shrugged and explained. "You know…I was born to fly, just like my dad."

Bruce nodded in understanding. "So…which do you prefer? Dick or Robin?"

"Dick…only my mom called me Robin." He smiled. "Well, Dad did too, but only when I did something really _awesome_ on the trapeze. Like the first time I aced the quad!" Dick's blue eyes sparkled at the memory. "Dad said I flew like a robin!" The next moment, his small face grew pensive. "I guess I'm never gonna fly again…not I like I did with Mom and Dad. " He shook his head sadly. "Call me Dick. I guess I'm not Robin anymore."

In a comforting gesture, Bruce placed his large hand on the small boy's thin shoulder and squeezed gently. He didn't say anything; offered no words filled with empty platitudes.

Bruce understood that there were no words that could fill the deep hole that the loss of his parents had left the boy. All Dick could do was live day to day with the pain, until it lessened one day. Bruce could only hope that the boy would one day be able to feel true happiness again.

Bruce, himself, was still waiting for that day after 25 years…

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Wed., 10 Jun./1730 EDT]**

Dick was turning out to be quite an apt student. And there was so much more that Bruce wanted to teach him. While Alfred took care of literature and proper grammar, Bruce started him on basic computer programming, science, and math. To his surprise, Dick showed a natural affinity for these subjects.

Within a week of getting him the latest laptop off the WayneTech assembly line, Dick modified it to process faster and even increased its memory.

Later in Dick's room, which was the manor's combination playroom-nursery, Dick showed Bruce a paper in his childish scrawl with logarithmic equations and—was that a form of trigonometry?—that Dick had jotted down to show his work.

Bruce's expert eyes spotted glaring holes in the math, and in a few instances, Dick's reaching a solution "the hard way." On the other hand, he also realized that the "glaring holes" were the result of intuitive leaps in Dick's thought processes. The boy hadn't bothered to write them down, because he wasn't even aware that he was doing it.

The boy displayed an impressive mental acuity. He had a brain that was as fast and nimble as his body. _Scarily good_ was an understatement.

Bruce blew out a long breath. _I'm the legal guardian of a child genius_. He'd have to make arrangements to have Dick tested. _And the fall term is coming soon…I'll have to see about getting him into a top school. One that'll challenge him…or maybe a tutor. He's used to being home-schooled. Maybe we can start with a tutor this first year and ease him into school next year. Then again, he needs friends his own age…_

These thoughts and others flashed through his mind as he read over Dick's work. Looking up, he silently watched Dick as the boy put the finishing touches of a picture he'd been coloring in. From his vantage point, Bruce could make out a circus tent in the background and a stick figure on top of an elephant. On the ground were two additional stick figures waving at the one on the elephant. It didn't take the World's Greatest Detective to determine whom the figures represented.

"Dick, who was your math teacher in the circus?" Bruce asked.

Keeping his head down, Dick continued coloring in his drawing. Bruce waited patiently as Dick paused for a moment, studying the box of crayons and selecting one. Bruce recognized a delaying tactic when he saw one. Dick was probably considering the question and how best to answer. Dick continued shading in the remaining empty spot in his picture's background. Finally satisfied with the results, he put the crayon down and looked up at Bruce, his face thoughtful.

"Mom taught me at first. She home-schooled me, 'cause it was hard keeping teachers." He shrugged, smiling. "One day I asked my dad a question, and he said I had to ask my mom 'cause he didn't do math. So I asked her, but…she couldn't help."

"What did you ask her?" Bruce asked, curious. By now he'd pulled up one of the child-sized chairs that furnished Dick's room and sat down.

"Just stuff about the trap." Dick used the carny slang for the trapeze. He took out another blank piece of paper and began sketching a pencil outline.

"What kind of stuff?"

Dick shrugged, concentrating on the pencil sketch. A vague outline of the trapeze over center ring was beginning to take form. "Just stuff…like how come I had to speed up before I could do the quad. Or, how come it was easier for me than my dad to reach the top speed needed even though he'd been a flyer a lot longer."

"Anything else?"

Dick had filled in more detail into the drawing. Bruce could make out a small stick figure standing alone on the platform, while two other figures reached for each other in midair.

"I asked how Dad knew how to time the swings so that he would be _exactly there_ to catch me." He spoke quietly, his right hand pressing harder on the pencil, shading the background in stark black.

In the back of Bruce's mind, warning bells were going off over Dick's sketches. However, he still considered the boy's questions regarding the mass and velocity of the two aerialists, and the radius of the circular path of the swing—even the stress on the ropes, the bars, and catcher's arms—as showing an instinctive grasp of higher math skills.

"So what happened next? Who taught you math?"

"Toby."

At Bruce's questioning look, Dick explained. "Toby is our sad clown." He shook his head. "It was supposed to be just pretend...being sad. But…something from before, I guess." He laid his pencil down, staring unseeing at the sketch lying in front of him.

"From before what?" Bruce asked gently.

Keeping his head down, Dick turned the sketch face down. "Before he joined up with the circus, Toby did something…math-y—" He shrugged as he struggled for the correct word. "I don't know what."

"I see. So, the circus sad clown was your math tutor." Bruce decided that perhaps it might be a good idea to run a check on this _Toby the Sad Clown_. It might help him solve the riddle of Dick's math skills—namely how a boy with so little formal schooling could be solving such highly advanced math problems.

But first, he reached for the sketch and turned it over. The lone stick figure on the platform was hunched over, looking sad. The rope on one of the swings was split in two. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked quietly.

Dick shook his head.

"Sometimes, it helps. When I—" Bruce stopped, struggling even after all these years. "When I first lost my own parents…" He paused gauging Dick's reaction. The boy had stiffened slightly, but was definitely listening. "…Alfred was there for me. It hurt to talk about…_it_—that awful night. And about them." He reached over and ran his hand gently through the boy's hair. "I won't lie to you, Dick. Even after all these years, it's still very painful."

Dick looked up at his words, his eyes stricken.

"But it's better. And guess what? It's because over the years, I've had lots of times when it was just Alfred and me remembering my parents. He's helped remind me that their memory doesn't always have to be surrounded in pain and darkness. There's a lot of good there, too. But there are still so many things that I wish I had said to them…_could_ say to them, if only…" He shrugged helplessly.

Dick's face crumpled in distress.

"It isn't fair! Why did Zucco have to kill them? They never did anything to him…they never hurt anyone! I hope somebody kills him! I _hate_ him! I _hate_ them! Why did they have to leave me?" Dick swept his arm across the table, knocking everything—crayons, paper, and drawings—onto the floor. Bruce plucked Dick from the chair and onto his lap, but Dick refused to be consoled by his guardian's soothing words and presence, his small body wracked with heartbroken sobs.

"Why did they have to leave me? I _hate_ them…I hate _him_…!" Dick's angry, broken cries were muffled against Bruce's chest as he struggled in his guardian's arms. In the back of Dick's head, his conscience demanded: _Why did you say you hated mom and dad? You know you don't. You loved them. _Grief-stricken, Dick could only fire back: _Why did they have to leave me?_ A soft voice, barely breaking through his resounding grief, reassured him that he wasn't alone, but Dick closed his ears to it. _I am alone…all alone_.

As Bruce held his disconsolate ward in his arms, his thoughts flew back 25 years to his own days of pain and anger following his tragic loss. He had also lashed out at anyone and everyone who had tried to console him. Alfred had borne the brunt of his rage through the first year.

In the years following, he'd learned to channel those dark emotions into a single-minded purpose: to prevent such a tragedy from happening to another child.

Clutching Dick closer to him, Bruce felt a momentary epiphany. He swore that he would do everything in his power to prevent this boy from ever being hurt again. Dick was family now. And, next to his mission, there was nothing more important to Bruce than protecting his family.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Wed., 10 Jun./2345 EDT]**

That night, Bruce ran a background check on one _Toby the Sad Clown of Haly's Circus_. Toby AKA Christopher Alvarez y Diaz, Ph.D., had started an engineering company, Diaz Instruments, from the ground up in Metropolis.

When his company put in the winning bid for a defense contract, his manufacturing plant suddenly suffered a series of nuisance accidents that affected the company's production line, leading up to a mysterious fire that set the company back several months.

In the end, Diaz Instruments went under and was bought up by LexCorp as part of a bankruptcy agreement: LexCorp paid all of DI's fees; restructured the company—thus letting several hundred of DI's employees go; absorbed its assets—including intellectual property and the defense contract.

Batman's eyes narrowed under the cowl. If LexCorp was involved, then whatever happened to DI was suspect. Digging deeper, Batman found evidence of payoff money. Following its trail, he traced its origin to a LexCorp subsidiary in Finland. The recipient turned out to be a convicted felon, Garfield Lynns—current whereabouts unknown—who had a love of incendiary devices.

Smiling, he sent the information anonymously to the one person he knew would be able to bring it all out in the open: the World's Most Annoying Reporter, Clark Kent. Once Kent wrote his exposé, and the appropriate authorities initiated their own investigation, Toby Diaz would be vindicated.

Bruce thought back to that afternoon in the nursery. After Dick had calmed down, he'd begun talking quietly. Not about his mom and dad as Bruce had expected, but about a quiet man who had befriended him.

Dick had liked the sad clown who took the time to show him how to find a problem and the steps needed to repair it correctly the first time. Toby had even shown Dick a series of math equations, explaining they were basic formulae of electronics. Dick had watched fascinated as the circuits inside a palm organizer were reduced to numbers on paper. Afterward, no repair job was complete without Toby asking Dick to write out the solution on paper.

As he headed toward the Batmobile, Batman reflected over the wheels of justice that tonight's research had set in motion. And all because a sad-faced clown had recognized the gifted mind of an inquisitive boy who had asked questions his dad couldn't answer.

**End of Part 3**

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**Acknowledgements**: Some ideas and dialogue borrowed from _Batman: Dark Victory_ #8; _All Star Batman and Robin, the Boy Wonder _#9; _Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight_ #100; Gotham City map/points of interest from _Batman: Gotham City Secret Files and Origins_ #1; _The Brave and the Bold_ #28; _BTAS: Robin's Reckoning_ S2E2; _The Sandman_ #1.

**Additional Notes: **A special thanks to my betas—Beth and Ellen.

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to DC, Time Warner, and CN; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

**Copyright**: October 2012


	4. Chapter 4

7

**Summary**: Bruce Wayne is visited by a reporter from a great metropolitan newspaper and receives a call from an old acquaintance.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Fri., 12 Jun./0930 EDT]**

Two days later Bruce sat behind his massive desk in his well-appointed executive office located on the top floor of Wayne Towers. Newly claiming a position of importance directly next to his computer monitor sat an 8x10-framed photo of Dick and Bruce, their heads nearly touching. Alfred had snapped it one evening when the two had been leaning over a chessboard, concentrating on the next move. Bruce picked it up, wondering not for the first time, at the amazing likeness between them. ("So much like father and son," Alfred had pointed out.)

Carefully returning the picture to its place of honor, Bruce returned to studying the childish sketches that Dick had drawn. The longer he looked them over, the tighter he felt his stomach muscles clench. Yes, he'd managed to reach Dick that day in the gym; he'd even elicited a few smiles from him, but that just wasn't enough.

Bruce remembered his own days of darkness following his parents' deaths. Looking back now, he knew that there had been no reaching him—at least, not at first. Alfred and Leslie had procured the services of a child psychologist, Dr. Garrett Sandford. Bruce had vague memories of his time with Dr. Sandford, but there was one in particular that stood out.

Bruce recalled a vivid nightmare in which he relived that night in the alleyway just outside the Monarch Theatre. Everything was recreated exactly as it had happened…

…The theater marquee announcing _The Mask of Zorro_; the smell of buttered popcorn; the warmth of his father's hand on his shoulder, coupled with the sound of his mother's sparkling laugh; the sounds of two gunshots abruptly shattering the happy memory; the sight of his parents lying in a spreading pool of their own blood on the filthy alley floor; a dark menacing shadow turning its attention on him…

…The sudden inexplicable appearance of Dr. Sandford, inserting himself between Bruce and the faceless gunman; the psychologist's gentle voice softly entreating, "Don't be afraid, Bruce…He's just a shadow. He's not real. Fight him, Bruce. Stand up to him. He's already taken so much from you; don't let him win. Fight back…"

Thinking back, Bruce recalled that that had been the moment when everything had changed for him. He'd found a new resolve that with time had solidified into his life's mission.

Arriving a decision, Bruce buzzed his executive assistant. "Maggie…can you please get me a number where I can reach Dr. Garrett Sandford?"

"Right away, sir," Maggie replied. "Oh, and Mr. Wayne? A Mr. Clark Kent is here to see you. He doesn't have an appointment, but—"

"Send him in."

"Yes, sir."

Bruce gathered Dick's sketches into a neat pile and placed them carefully inside his desk drawer. He stood as the door opened, revealing the all-too familiar, slightly hunched over bespectacled reporter. As soon as the door closed behind him, Clark straightened to his full height. Giving Bruce his typical, friendly smile, Clark proffered his hand in greeting. Bruce took it and the two men shook hands briskly.

"Bruce, it's good see you as always."

"Kent." Bruce gave his usual brusque greeting. "I'm busy."

"I'm fine, thank you for asking," Clark replied good-naturedly. He laid a plastic container on Bruce's massive executive desk. The Kansas farm boy in Clark estimated that the desk probably cost more than he made in a year on his reporter's salary.

Bruce eyed the container suspiciously. "What's that?"

"These are a dozen of Ma Kent's famous oatmeal raisin cookies. Her recipe's won first prize at the Kansas State Fair five years running," Clark said proudly. "She says, 'Hi', by the way."

"Thank her for me," Bruce said sincerely, and then gestured to one of the visitor's chairs. Nodding, Clark sat. Sitting back in his own chair, Bruce raised a single eyebrow at his super-powered colleague, tacitly giving permission to speak.

"The information you sent me was very interesting. Funny, but DI's troubles and LexCorp's possible involvement has never been on anyone's radar." Leaning forward, Kent gazed intently at his mysterious friend. "Off the record, what caught your attention? I mean, besides the involvement of Garfield Lynns—AKA Firefly? What's so special about Diaz Instruments? It's not a Gotham company, and Wayne Corp never conducted any business with DI before it went under. I know because I checked. So, what's in it for you?"

Clark sat back and waited patiently. His friend might be a cool customer, but Superman had nerves of steel. He could play the waiting game, too.

At last Bruce gave a long sigh and shrugged. "Let's just say that in the course of checking on something of importance to…certain unnamed parties, a few interesting and unexpected facts came to my attention. I thought that you might be in a better position to help bring these facts to light...And Lynn's involvement did catch my attention. Since his last escape from Blackgate, he's managed to lay low and elude capture. His having a Metropolis connection comes as a surprise, though. I've never known Lynn to operate outside of Gotham."

Clark nodded. He'd inferred from what wasn't said that the Batman had uncovered supplementary information during an unrelated investigation that he didn't have time to follow-up on. Therefore, he'd passed it on to him because it involved LexCorp. Plus, Diaz Instruments had been located in Metropolis.

"And for the record," Bruce said a touch coldly, "just because DI isn't a Gotham company, doesn't mean I don't care that it was brought down by mob tactics at their worst. Luthor may be Metropolis' favorite son, but he's nothing but a cheap mobster in an expensive suit. I'm confidant you and that pen of yours will bring him down eventually…That and a good right cross."

"A compliment," Clark murmured, with a shake of his head. "Now I know I'm being played." He stared at Bruce a moment longer, not fooled for an instant by the bland, playboy stare. "Okay, Bruce…I'll play along for now. Perry White has already approved my initial draft. The story will appear in three parts, starting in tomorrow's morning edition. Front page, below the fold."

"What, no banner-headline?" Bruce asked.

Clark actually blushed. "That's for Lois' latest story on Superman: Metropolis' _other_ favorite son. I swear the woman's obsessed with the superhero."

Amused at his friend's obvious crush, Bruce stood. The two men again shook hands, signaling that the interview was over.

"Give your mother my best," Bruce said.

"I will…and thanks." For the information and for seeing him went unsaid.

"Oh, and Kent…you could always try sending Lois flowers and maybe inviting her to dinner. Women like that."

Clark rolled his eyes. "It's not me she's interested in, Bruce. It's Superman."

Bruce looked at him as if he were an idiot, not bothering to point out that Clark and Superman were the same person. After Clark left, Bruce waited a few minutes before checking the security cameras in the downstairs lobby. He saw Clark turn and give a surreptitious wink into the camera before walking out.

_I need to have a serious talk with the chief of security about finding a better placement for the cameras_.

He stepped through the door between his office and that of his executive assistant. "Maggie, I need you to send a nice flower arrangement to Mrs. Martha Kent, Smallville, Kansas, RFD. Have the card say, _Mrs. Kent, Thank you for the delicious, homemade oatmeal and raisin cookies. As always, they even outstrip Alfred's, which will remain our secret. Best regards, Bruce Wayne_."

About to return to his office, a sudden glint lit his eyes. "One more thing, Maggie…Send two dozen red roses to Ms. Lois Lane, care of the _Daily Planet_, Metropolis, Troy State. The card should say, _Lois, congratulations on the front-page banner headline. Love, Clark_."

"Clark?" Maggie looked up surprised. "I don't understand."

"Let's just say that in honor of the Boy Scouts of America, I'm performing my good deed for the day." Smiling, he returned to his office.

Maggie continued to stare for a moment longer, but finally shrugged and did as asked. She muttered under her breath. "The rich are different because they can afford to be, I guess."

Back at his desk, Bruce placed a call to the executive office down the hall from his.

"Lucius, can I see you for a minute? Good." He buzzed his assistant again. "Maggie, do you have the contact information for Dr. Sandford yet?"

"I've already sent it to your desktop."

Checking his computer screen, Bruce noticed the icon warning of a new message. "Oh, so you did. Thanks."

As he waited for Lucius, Bruce pulled up the files on his corporate headhunters. The job of recruiting Diaz would require finesse and just the right amount of sensitivity. A man with his credentials did not just up and join a circus, without having burnt all his bridges. Having no family to fall back on, when he lost the company that he'd started from the ground up, Diaz undoubtedly felt there was nothing left for him. After almost three years with Haly's Circus, he might not wish to leave the life he'd built there.

Diaz might even look upon any overtures from a large corporation with suspicion. After all, look what happened with LexCorp. However, Wayne Corp wasn't LexCorp, and Bruce Wayne wasn't Lex Luthor. The work Diaz Instruments had been doing in artificial intelligence and nano-technology—something WayneTech was even now just breaking into—would be of great value to them.

Besides, Diaz had played an important role in Dick's life. He deserved a second chance. Therefore, the recruiter Wayne Corp sent had to be able to present the company in the best possible light in order to break through Diaz's shell, but who? It was at this moment that Lucius stuck his head in.

"Wanted to see me, Boss?"

Bruce looked up from his computer at his chief of research and development, and his eyes suddenly became calculating. Nodding, he smiled disarmingly. "Lucius, I'd like you to fly to Cleveland for me and see a man about a clown…"

Thirty minutes later, after much arguing back and forth, Lucius finally agreed to fly to Cleveland, Ohio, where the Haly's Circus was currently playing, to meet Dr. Christopher Alvarez y Diaz and offer him a handsome hiring package. He left Bruce's office grumbling that gallivanting halfway across the country (to visit with a clown, no less!) was a job for the young, not the 50-something chief of R-and-D. "I thought that's what we had minions for…"

Bruce smirked in amusement. Seeing the reminder icon on his computer desktop, Bruce became serious again. He'd carefully considered his next actions, gone over them several times in his head anticipating several worst-case scenarios. It all came back to the same issue: Dick needed some kind of professional help to get him through his grief.

_Dr. Garrett Sandford is in the top of his field—and 25 years ago, he was even able to help me. Plus, he has certain additional qualities that make him especially attractive_.

Sitting up straight, Bruce reached for the phone, when it suddenly rang. Annoyed, Bruce picked it up. "Yes, Maggie?"

"Sir…Dr. Garrett Sandford is on the line for you."

Scowling, Bruce sat back in his seat. _And then there are those qualities that make him especially unattractive._

"Bruce Wayne speaking."

"Good morning, Mr. Wayne," the familiar voice said over the phone. "Garrett Sandford speaking. I take it you've been trying to contact me...after all these years."

"As a matter of fact, Doctor, I was just about to call you."

"Then we're in agreement. I am aware of young Richard's nightmares and would like to help."

"The way you helped me?" Or rather, the way _the Sandman_ helps children fight monsters in their dreams?

"I think you know the answer to that question, Mr. Wayne." Not waiting for a reply, Sandford continued brusquely. "Do you have some free time tomorrow afternoon at 2:30?"

"Yes."

"Good, be here at my office at 2:30 tomorrow and bring the sketches. We have a lot to discuss. Oh, I know you already this, Mr. Wayne, but in the lottery of life, you've had some bad breaks and some lucky ones. When you found Richard, you hit the proverbial jackpot. He's a fine boy, and you're going to be a fine father and mentor. Together, you two are going places. See you tomorrow, Mr. Wayne. Oh, and _pleasant dreams_!"

As Bruce hung up the phone, he sat back thoughtfully. Garrett Sandford was literally the Sandman of myth, the _dream walker_ who sprinkled _dream dust_—mystical grains of golden sand—over sleeping children to help them through a troubled night.

Bruce wasn't exactly sure about the handfuls of sand or so-called dream dust, but he was certain of one thing: Sandford was a renowned child psychologist whose almost mystical connection with children had aided in helping _him_ through his _own_ trauma. Apparently, Sandford was already aware of Dick and had called Bruce before he had worked up the guts to call him instead.

It looked like he would be keeping that appointment tomorrow at 2:30 p.m.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 13 Jun./1015 EDT]**

Trying to decipher the almost illegible scrawl on the sheet of graph paper, Bruce went over the complicated calculations that Dick had written. Alfred had procured graph paper with extra large squares to accommodate Dick's still-awkward fine-motor skills. But how a kid who had such perfect control over every other major muscle group in his body couldn't quite master holding a number 2 pencil was beyond Bruce.

Reaching a decision, Bruce gave his ward a warm smile. "I'm gonna have to introduce you to Lucius Fox one day. I've told him you could give some of our top engineers a run for their money, math-wise. But…I guess you're probably a bit too young for an internship in R-and-D—"

"I'm eight!" Dick protested.

"True," Bruce replied, keeping his expression carefully serious. "But maybe we should wait putting you to work for a while. Let's say…at least until you're ten." In fact, he and Lucius had discussed Bruce taking Dick to work with him to introduce to him to some of the younger engineers and interns to show him real-life applications for computers, math, and science. And hopefully have some fun doing it.

"Okay," Dick sighed disappointedly. It would've been nice to work with Bruce, almost like working alongside his parents.

Seeing the boy's crestfallen look, Bruce quickly added, "But I promise that we'll think of something for you to do at WayneTech. I mean, we have to ensure you use your superpowers for good."

As he said the last few words, Bruce's voice dropped an octave, and he pounced on his ward, starting a tickle war.

Alfred paused outside the door to the study, smiling at the sound that was coming from there—the welcome sound of a child's laughter.

"Bravo, Master Bruce," he whispered.

**End of Part 4**

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**Acknowledgements**: Some ideas and dialogue borrowed from _Batman: Dark Victory_ #8; _All Star Batman and Robin, the Boy Wonder _#9; _Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight_ #100; Gotham City map/points of interest from _Batman: Gotham City Secret Files and Origins_ #1; _The Brave and the Bold_ #28; _BTAS: Robin's Reckoning_ S2E2; _The Sandman_ #1.

**Additional Notes: **A special thanks to my betas—Beth and Ellen. And I'd like to extend an extra-special thanks to everyone who's taken the time to review the story. Your words of encouragement are very much appreciated. I hope you keep on enjoying the story.

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to DC, Time Warner, and CN; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

**Copyright**: October 2012


	5. Chapter 5

7

**Summary**: Bruce comes up with a plan; Dick discovers the banister (among other dangerous platforms); Leslie and Alfred give their opinions.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Mon., 15 Jun./1930 EDT]**

By midweek, Dick's daily routine was all but set. Bruce drew up a spreadsheet to show his ideas to Alfred and Leslie for approval. He thought of preparing a PowerPoint presentation to brief Dick about his new daily regimen, but decided that might be taking things a bit too far.

Per his consultation with Dr. Sandford, Bruce attempted to account for almost all of Dick's waking hours, filling them with a balance of mental and physical activities. By the time lights out came around, the plan was for Dick to be so worn out he'd drop off to sleep immediately. Hopefully, it might help him achieve a restful, dreamless night.

0530—training in the gym with Bruce

0630—showers

0700—breakfast/discuss day's plans with Bruce, Alfred

0800—math/science tutor (TBD)

1100—free time (except Wednesday—Dr. Garrett Sandford)

1200—lunch

1300—homework.

1500—varies by day

Monday/Wednesday—swimming (meets on alt. Weds.)

Tuesday/Thursday—soccer (games on alt. Sats.)

Friday—horseback riding (supervised with trainer)

1700—(Monday/Friday) Bruce, Dick time

1830—dinner

1930—silent, sustained reading/homework

2030—prepare for bed

2100—lights out.

They invited Leslie for dinner that night. She brought a light atmosphere to the dinner conversation, including topics of interest to Dick, and generally teasing Bruce about a recent shopping trip he'd gone on with his ward.

She laughed merrily at Dick's description of the normally self-assured Bruce Wayne tackling the unknown dangers of the boys' clothing department—namely a wild stampede of suburban housewives fighting over sales items.

"…And the lady just yanked it from his hands and took off," Dick finished with a giggle.

"Hey, just a minute there!" Bruce protested. "That woman was crazy. She sic'ced that rabid daughter of hers at me—"

"She was five!" Dick spluttered. Leslie howled in most unladylike laughter.

"Seriously, if I'd had slower reflexes, she would've taken a huge chunk out of my leg!" He glared at Leslie as she helplessly wiped tears from her eyes.

"I only wish we had pictures," she managed to choke out.

The rest of the dinner conversation continued in a similar vein, and the dining room rang with laughter long after the table had been cleared.

Shortly after 9:00 p.m., Dick was excused to get ready for bed, and Leslie requested the honor of tucking him in. Dick surprised Bruce by giving him a brief hug before heading upstairs. Within the half-hour, Leslie re-joined Bruce and Alfred in the study.

"He went out like a light," she reported fondly, accepting a cup of Earl Grey tea. Once she'd fixed her tea to her satisfaction, she leaned back on the comfortable settee, ready to give Bruce her full attention. "So, Bruce…what is this _master plan_ that you've come up with?"

In response, Bruce handed her and Alfred a printout of the spreadsheet he'd prepared the previous night. Pleased with his own efforts, he waited for their responses, certain that they would approve it.

Leslie read over the spreadsheet, and except for an occasional pinching around the corners of her mouth, she kept her expression carefully neutral. Bruce probably wouldn't have noticed except that he'd been watching her closely, expecting a smile or at least a look of approval from her.

"_Congratulations, _Bruce," she said sardonically, "on successfully turning childhood into a regimented boot camp that would make the Marine Corps proud."

Bruce was taken slightly aback by her disapproving tone. Therefore, when she pointed at one item in particular, he paid close attention.

"Bruce, I know that Garrett Sandford is a renowned child psychologist and that he helped you all those years ago. And heaven knows, it's long past time that Dick saw one, but…I don't know." Leslie looked troubled. "There's something a bit…_off_ about him. I thought so 25 years ago, and nothing's happened since to change my mind."

"Leslie, I've had the man thoroughly vetted—by usual means and _un_usual. The man has done some amazing work with children who have suffered deep emotional shock—practically wrote the book on it. And, I know I've never talked about it, but as you said, he _did_ help me all those years ago. Still…if it makes you feel better, I could insist that one of us be allowed to observe the sessions at all times. Since Dick's a minor, Dr. Sandford would have to agree."

Leslie nodded. "That could work. Let me clear my Wednesday mornings. I at least want to be there for the first few sessions." They all agreed to be present for the first two sessions, and afterward, they would alternate Wednesdays.

It was Alfred's turn. "Sir, before we go any further with this—_draconian_—schedule, I hope I needn't remind you that Master Richard is but a boy, and a traumatized boy at that. He is neither your acolyte-in-training, nor is he a soldier. Please, consider that when you revise this schedule." _And revise it you will_ went unsaid as Alfred gave Bruce a pointed look.

As if Bruce needed to be reminded of such a thing—although he had privately considered that the boy had the makings of a good soldier in his mission. Glaring at the spreadsheet in his grip, Bruce conceded that perhaps they had a point. Maybe he _was_ pushing Dick a bit too hard.

_But did Leslie need to be so sarcastic about it?_ He protested silently. _The Marine Corps indeed_!

As for Alfred…? That man could still make him feel about an inch tall with just a look or a few well-chosen words. Seeing Alfred's look of disappointment, Bruce could only cringe…

"Really, Master Bruce, must you specify the topic of discussion at breakfast? Discussions over meals should be spontaneous and flow naturally from one topic to another. You can't mandate such a thing. And silent, sustained reading? It might be a nice idea in theory, but in practice? We're having a difficult enough time getting Master Richard to come out of his shell. This will only put him back in it."

Alfred paused, gaining momentum.

"Reading in and of itself is an excellent idea, but consider it as an opportunity to sit with him, instead, and discuss whatever it is he's reading. Or, heaven forbid…perhaps even read aloud to the poor lad."

At Bruce's sudden look of fight or flight at the mere suggestion of reading out loud to a child, Alfred gave him a sharp look.

"It does not necessarily have to be you, sir, but seriously, you're allotting 90 minutes twice a week to spend with Master Richard. Are you sure you can manage such a _grueling_ schedule?"

"What? You think it's too much?" Bruce asked. "I was thinking that, too. Maybe—" He stopped when he saw Alfred's disdainful expression. Bruce sighed. For 25 years this man had raised him, stood by him, and taken care of his needs; yet, Bruce still fell for it. "Okay…what do _you_ think would be a better amount of time?"

"Sir…it isn't the quantity, but rather the quality of time that's important. Spending time with Master Richard is something you should look forward to and want to make time for. Not something to be set aside like an appointment with the dentist...or the _proctologist_. A boy's life is not something to be mapped out in advance. It is an adventure to be lived each day to the fullest. You, sir, should know this better than anyone."

Looking at Bruce's blank expression, Alfred could only shake his head in mild reproof. He turned his attention back to pouring himself a second cup of tea, leaving Bruce to reach his own conclusions...

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Mon., 15 Jun./2330 EDT]**

Bruce stared at the offending document, sitting on his desk. Okay, maybe he _had_ gone a bit overboard. Sighing, he dutifully scratched out and altered parts of the spreadsheet:

0700—[_breakfast/discuss day's plans with Bruce, Alfred_] (Changed to: _Family time_)

x x x

1700—(Monday/Friday) [_Bruce/Dick time_] (Changed to: _Play by ear_)

x x x

1930—[_silent, sustained reading/homework_] (Changed to: _Play by ear_)

There! He glared at the double strikeout of the words _silent, sustained_. That was the best he could come up with. He'd type the corrections tomorrow sometime and finalize the plans. He went to bed that night worried over Alfred and Leslie's opinion that he might be having Dick doing too much too soon.

A few days after Dick's new schedule was implemented, however, Bruce felt somewhat vindicated. The boy's whole demeanor changed almost overnight. He'd gone from being little more than a ghost, haunting the manor, to a vibrant and effervescent boy, filled with boundless energy and rushing headlong from one activity to the next…

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Wed., 17 Jun./1300 EDT]**

One day Dick _discovered_ the banister and the chandelier much to Alfred's chagrin. Hanging and swinging from the antique chandelier that Bruce's mother had shipped from Italy became one of his favorite pastimes. It was how he spent much of his free time, along with balancing himself on his hands on any narrow surface he could find: the back of the couch in the family room; the third floor railing overlooking the entrance foyer; the topmost gables on the manor roof; and even bareback on Tornado, Bruce's all-black champion steeplechaser (named after Zorro's loyal steed).

Alfred worried that Dick's daredevil streak was dangerous and could lead to his suffering a serious accident. Bruce believed that Dick was a professional acrobat, who also happened to be a rambunctious boy.

Admittedly, Dick's riding Tornado bareback almost took a year off his guardian's life. Especially when the small boy stood up, his stance perfectly balanced. When Dick started performing front and back flips while Tornado was at a half-gallop, Bruce was ready to break out the Bat grappler. Then, he almost had a heart attack, when Dick went into a handstand on the galloping horse—and held one of his arms straight out as he balanced himself on one hand!

After a while, Dick returned to _safely_ riding astride and somehow signaled the horse to a canter, a trot, and a walk. At last, he brought him to a complete stop and dismounted with a flourish. He stood momentarily, his arms raised as if hearing the applause and cheers of invisible crowds, his wide smile infectious.

When questioned later about his attempting such dangerous stunts, Dick shrugged casually, as if performing death-defying feats was an everyday occurrence to him. "Our trick riders, the Donner Twins, used to babysit me. They taught me how to ride bareback and how to do some of their tricks."

"Oh? What else did you learn in the circus? I mean…besides the obvious?" Bruce gestured vaguely, referring to Dick's acrobatics.

By now Dick was running around in circles, performing cartwheels, back springs, round-offs—anything that took his fancy. Using Bruce's shoulders as a springboard, he leapt up, kicked off his tall, broad-shouldered guardian and dismounted—again with a flourish and bow to the unseen audience.

"And he _sticks_ the landing!" Dick announced happily. Grinning up at Bruce, he suddenly remembered the question. "I learned lotsa other stuff." Dick scrunched his face in concentration. "Let's see…the Great Marko taught me knife-throwing, and I learned some super-cool escape tricks from Zatara—"

"Zatara?" Bruce couldn't keep the surprise from his voice. He himself had apprenticed under Zatara for a summer season almost 15 years ago. This had been shortly before he left the country on his worldwide journey of enlightenment. Zatara was not a patient teacher and did not suffer fools. If he took Dick under his wing…?

"Uh-huh…Zatara and his daughter joined us a couple years ago for a European tour. Anyway, he told me I needed to learn how to escape 'cause Robin was gonna need it."

"And have you needed it?" Bruce asked.

Dick shook his head, no. Looking suddenly perplexed, he said, "It's funny 'cause Zatara didn't say that _I_ needed to know how to escape. He said that _Robin_ needed it."

Then, dismissing the thought with a shrug, he took off again, tumbling his way across the immaculate manor grounds.

Smiling at the boy's high spirits, Bruce said softly, "You are one amazing kid, Dick Grayson." And Bruce was going to do everything to help him get through this first year without his parents.

Therefore, while nodding seriously at Alfred's concerns over the boy's dangerous acts, Bruce winked proudly at Dick on the sly. In fact, if Batman were in the market for a partner, Richard Grayson met all the criteria—except for his age. There was no way that Batman would ever ally himself with an eight-year-old child.

He smiled and nodded at Dick's excited, "Hey, Bruce, watch this!"

Bruce bit down on his tongue as he watched Dick catch the lower branch of a 50-foot oak tree that stood sentinel over the meandering manor gardens and proceed to climb. Bruce also forced himself to stand fast, refusing to run after Dick with a butterfly net to catch him should he fall.

_The boy's a professional_, he reminded himself. _He knows what he's doing_. _He won't fall…he won't fall…_

The next minute he was rewarded by a small hand waving at him from one of the highest branches. "_Whoa_…! Bruce, this tree is _awesome_! I bet I can see for a hundred miles from here!" Unexpectedly, Dick added, "You _gotta_ come up and join me!"

At the boy's invitation, Bruce felt a surprising warmth spread out from his chest. Before he knew what he was doing, Bruce had kicked off his shoes and found himself a couple of branches below Dick. He was too heavy for the smaller, higher branches. Still, Dick's happy grin was worth the climb.

Afterward, lying side by side in the shade afforded by the giant oak, they discussed different ideas for a tree house or a swing; they disagreed on cloud shapes—Dick tending toward elephants and Bruce toward bats; and Dick agreed to sticking to the lower branches of the giant oak unless Bruce was with him.

"Thanks, buddy…Alfred worries, you know?" Bruce kept his face turned carefully away, lest the boy read his own fear in his eyes.

"Yeah…Mom was like that."

Bruce choked back a surprised laugh. Turning to face Dick, he allowed his amusement to show. "Tell you what…we'll just keep that to ourselves, okay?"

Dick giggled. "Okay."

Smiling, they shook hands on it.

Later that night, Bruce sat in his study, thinking about that day's activities. It seemed that this whole guardianship _thing_ that he had gotten himself into was finally coming together. His demeanor softened, as he thought about Dick's bright, engaging smile. He sure was a great kid.

Satisfied that he had temporarily solved the problem of Dick's depression, Bruce felt that he could devote more time to finding Zucco.

_Yeah…things were finally coming together._

Of course, Alfred insisted that Dick's recent change had more to do with the attention that Bruce was paying him than the tight schedule that kept him actively engaged.

However, the Bat had unfinished business with Tony Zucco, and he stubbornly hunkered down to finish it. He could not forget the incident in the nursery when Dick broke down. The rage in the small boy had left Bruce feeling impotent at being unable to comfort him. This only served to fuel his own rage at Zucco for destroying the boy's life.

Each night for the next few weeks, after Dick was in bed, Batman sat at his computer station before and after his patrol, running down any and all leads he could on Tony Zucco, the Graysons' alleged killer.

The Cave's computer system was comprised of five modified WayneTech super-computers with dual physical/virtual cores. The WT-5p's 24-core 6.12GHz processors were the fastest, most accurate, and most efficient on the market. Lucius Fox's additional modifications made them even faster and more efficient. Batman was able to access supposedly inaccessible information from just about any system—government, corporate, or private—in the world.

The system was currently running a worldwide search on one Anthony "Fats" Zucco. By the time Batman was done, he'd know everything about Zucco, from his first arrest to his favorite brand of toothpaste.

Zucco was a second-tier mobster, related to Sal Moroni, head of the Maroni crime family and Zucco's uncle. According to some snitches Batman had questioned, Zucco was a minor enforcer on sufferance of his uncle, who felt he owed his sister.

However, Zucco was trying to increase his clout by going into the protection racket, as well as the transportation of illicit merchandise. The night of his parents' murder, Dick reported having overheard a man talking to C.C. "Pop" Haly, the owner and ringmaster of Haly's Circus.

At the time Dick hadn't understood what was being said. All he knew was that the man's words had angered Haly, who had him thrown off the grounds…

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**End of Part 5**

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**Acknowledgements**: Some ideas and dialogue borrowed from _Batman: Dark Victory_ #8; _All Star Batman and Robin, the Boy Wonder _#9; _Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight_ #100; Gotham City map/points of interest from _Batman: Gotham City Secret Files and Origins_ #1; _The Brave and the Bold_ #28; _BTAS: Robin's Reckoning_ S2E2; _The Sandman_ #1.

**Additional Notes: **A special thanks to my betas—Beth and Ellen. And I'd like to extend an extra-special thanks to everyone who's taken the time to review the story. Your words of encouragement are very much appreciated. I hope you keep on enjoying the story.

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to DC, Time Warner, and CN; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

**Copyright**: October 2012


	6. Chapter 6

7

**Summary**: Bruce concludes he's not father material.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 21 Mar./0800 EDT]**

"…Be a shame if something were to happen to them, y'know? I mean, with them bein' way up there—and the _ground_ bein' way _down_ here..."

It was only afterward that Dick realized the dark stranger had been referring to his family. When Bruce approached him, following his being interviewed by the police, the small heartbroken boy sobbed his guilt-ridden suspicions to him.

"I _saw_ him leaving the big top before we went on…I tried to tell them, but we were on next!" Dick turned his tear-filled sapphire eyes to Bruce. "I should've said something!"

Wordlessly, Bruce had removed his suit coat and placed it around the boy's shoulders. The moment his eyes had met the boy's, he was committed. Without even realizing it, Bruce was already making plans for the boy's future.

Bruce told himself that he would take the boy in because he was a material witness. Until Zucco was caught, Dick's life was in danger. What safer place than Wayne Manor? At the time, Bruce had believed that the move was strictly for the boy's protection, nothing more.

After all, Bruce Wayne was hardly father material.

Later that night when Batman spoke to Haly, the owner confirmed that Tony Zucco had threatened him earlier that day. Zucco warned Haly that if he didn't pay up, then someone was going to be hurt—specifically the Flying Graysons, the circus's star attraction.

Haly also reported that Zucco had been very interested in the circus's many long-haul trucks and trailers. He'd hinted that he had a lot of _stuff_ that needed to be moved cross-country, which the circus did on a regular basis.

"You got some nice trucks," Haly recalled Zucco as saying. "You get to cross state lines every which way, 'cause like I said, _everybody_ loves the circus. Me, I got stuff that's _gotta_ get across state lines…"

The Maroni family owned a controlling interest in a legitimate transport outfit called "Ace Trucking Co." Most of the company's transport business was legal, but GCPD files on Ace Trucking showed some questionable employees.

Anthony "Fats" Zucco, twice convicted in the past of running a small-time protection racket but never sentenced, ran the operation for the Maronis. His right hand man, Eddie Skeevers, had been brought in for questioning in the assault and disfiguration of then District Attorney Harvey Dent.

Several of the other recent hires at Ace Trucking Co. had been released from Blackgate Prison a few months prior on a technicality.

Batman suspected that the "stuff" in question that Zucco wanted to move was comprised of several hundred kilos of heroin that had been shipped into Gotham Harbor a couple weeks prior by the Falcones, a rival crime family.

According to Captain James Gordon, head of major crimes and a new ally in the GCPD, as soon as the shipment had cleared customs, the Falcone muscle had been attacked by suspected members of the Maroni mob. Most of Falcone's men were left for dead, the rest hospitalized in critical condition, and the merchandise—over 1800 kilos of heroin—vanished. That was almost two tons of the poison unaccounted for.

Haly had mistakenly believed that he'd put enough of a scare into the lowlife scum to leave the circus alone when he'd had Zucco kicked off the grounds by the circus strongman and a couple of the larger roustabouts.

That belief had proven to be a tragic mistake…

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 20 Jun./1600 EDT]**

So now Batman had two additional reasons for bringing Zucco down. Besides finding justice for Richard for his parents' murder, he was also tracking him to find the missing shipment of heroin, and because of his tie, however tenuous, to the destruction of Harvey Dent and the creation of Two-Face.

Between chasing down leads on Zucco and mapping out his alleged movements, Batman still managed to take care of his city. In the days that followed, he re-captured the usual Arkham escapees—Poison Ivy on a Monday, Mr. Freeze the following Saturday—and hand delivered them back to their padded cells.

Freeze's escape and capture forced Bruce to miss Dick's first Saturday soccer game. If he took extra pleasure in cracking the psycho's protective helmet and breaking his jaw, he couldn't really be blamed. The hurt in Dick's sapphire eyes cut him to the quick when he arrived just minutes after the game ended. Dick's team had won, with Dick kicking the winning goal.

To Bruce's chagrin he had to listen to the coach's excited chatter praising Dick's performance.

"In all my years coaching junior soccer, I have never seen a more naturally gifted player. Dick's moves could rival David Beckham's!"

Having no idea who David Beckham was, Bruce awkwardly thanked the coach. As he was leading Dick to the car, the coach followed them, still singing Dick's praises with a nonstop play-by-play. He entreated Bruce to call him so that they could best plan Dick's future as a soccer player. Only when Bruce was pulling out of the parking lot did the coach finally stop his excited jabber.

The drive home was shrouded with a suffocating silence that Bruce didn't know how to breach. He had let Dick down, but it couldn't be helped. If he hadn't stopped Mr. Freeze, there was no telling what kind of property damage the super-villain could have left in his wake. More importantly, hundreds of innocent civilians would have been hurt as well.

He had done the right thing. He knew that. But it still left a bad taste in his mouth…

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 20 Jun./2230 EDT]**

Later that night, Batman prowled Gotham with a burning anger deep inside him. He stopped whatever crime-in-progress he happened across, relishing the satisfactory release he got from punching out whichever underworld lowlifes happened to be unlucky enough to get caught by him. A pair of B-and-E amateurs ended up tied, hanging upside down from the roof of a ten-story building.

"I recommend you wait for the authorities," Batman rasped. "Or…you could try cutting yourselves down. It's only about a hundred-foot drop."

He also visited all of the places that Zucco was known to frequent. One of these was the Ice Pick Bar near the old docks. He knew that his showing up there would cause a riot. Sure enough, a burly thug built like a brick wall immediately took a swing at him. Grinning in anticipation, Batman exploded in movement. Ten minutes later, he was the only man left standing.

He felt strangely disappointed. One would think professional muscle could have offered a better fight.

One bright spot in the dead-end leads he was chasing was the opportunity to lean heavily on Tony Zucco's uncle, Sal Maroni. Yeah… Batman really enjoyed making that scumbag sweat, though the man refused to rat out his sister's son.

"I ain't no snitch, Bats! And even if I was…I ain't got no clue what that no-good nephew of mine has been up to. 'Sides, I ain't even seen Tony in over a month now!"

Of course, the bug Batman planted in Maroni's office told a different story once he was gone; more specifically, it revealed the hit good ol' Uncle Sal had put on his own _beloved_ nephew.

"Tony brought this on himself!" Maroni yelled into the phone. "It's bad enough he started this war I can't afford with the Falcones; I don't need no _bats_ in my business. You see Tony, Eddie, you tell him for me. Nephew or no nephew—he's a dead man as long as he stays in Gotham! So, he better get the hell out of Dodge if he wants to stay healthy!"

As he listened to Maroni's rants, Batman's stoic visage morphed into a cruel smirk—the very stuff of nightmares. He knew that Maroni was on the phone with Eddie Skeevers, Zucco's main enforcer. Soon, Zucco would have to go to ground, and Batman had all of his safe houses under electronic surveillance.

"Maybe Batman should pay Eddie a friendly visit," he growled. It was only a matter of time before Zucco, the sewer rat, got caught in his snare…

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./1030 EDT]**

Somehow, between chasing down leads on Zucco and patrolling Gotham, Batman still found the time and energy to assist as needed with a newly formed club of super-heroes (name still pending). He wasn't sure how much he could trust the group of powerful meta-humans who had sought him out a few months prior to help with emergencies on a global scale. He'd flat-out refused at first when Superman, the big alien Boy Scout, came on a recruiting drive.

What could an ordinary mortal hope to offer a team that already boasted the likes of Superman, Wonder Woman, and Martian Manhunter? Eventually, Batman agreed to think about it, and after studying the various abilities of each member and the cases/missions they had been involved in, he'd agreed to join. It was obvious from their complete lack of finesse and forethought that the team needed someone who understood tactics and strategy.

Or, at the very least, they needed someone who tried to keep collateral damage to property and innocent bystanders to a minimum. After all, what was the point of winning the battle, if it came at the cost of destroying people's homes and livelihood?

According to the Man of Steel, the latest emergency involved a strange, starfish-shaped alien creature they had dubbed "Starro" that had the ability to mentally control others, coercing them into doing its bidding. Batman didn't bother to ask Superman to repeat the emergency, because in the brief time he'd worked with the team, he'd come to accept the "weird" as mere commonplace.

"A giant, mind-controlling alien starfish creature it is," he muttered with a shake of his head. "Of course."

After this mission, he'd talk to Superman about coming up with a name for the team. Something with more panache than what the press had dubbed them, because there was no way in hell that Batman would ever officially associate with a group that called itself the "Super Friends." Seriously, just thinking about it was costing him credibility points in the whole "dark and mysterious avenger of the night" department.

Shaking his head, Batman switched to the manor's internal comms and called Alfred to the Cave. He informed his surrogate father of the latest global threat, and of the fact that he'd have to leave immediately. He didn't bother to give a date of return. They both knew that there was always a chance he might not come back.

"Tell Dick that I've been called away overseas on urgent business…a last minute conference in Tokyo over a contract dispute." He sighed. "Give him my apologies for missing the 4th of July fun and fireworks that we planned...Unfortunately, more pressing matters have come up. I know he was really looking forward to it."

Alfred nodded sadly. "Of course, sir. I am certain Master Richard will understand."

_Right…just as he understood, when I missed his first soccer match. Or the time I didn't make it to his swim meet. Or the myriad other times I had to cancel out on plans we'd made in advance, because of the latest psycho threatening Gotham. _

And here he thought he'd finally gotten the whole role of guardian to an eight-year-old boy down. _Maybe it's time I told Dick the truth, _he thought_. No, not yet. Eventually…but not yet. _Truthfully, he wanted to protect Dick's childhood a little longer.

"I know…why don't you and Leslie take him to the parade and fireworks later? Make a day out of it? He probably won't even miss me." As he spoke Bruce was making his way toward the Batwing with long, confident strides. Climbing into the cockpit, he pulled on the cowl and immediately transformed into the Dark Knight. He closed the cockpit and powered up the high-performance aircraft. He clicked on the radio. "I'll stay in contact if possible."

As the Batwing turned 180 degrees, facing down the lit runway lights, Batman powered up the engines to maximum, and releasing the restraints, shot forward and out of the main chamber. Alfred heard the echoing roar of the jet engines long after the aircraft had shot out into the mid-morning sky. As the Cave settled back down to its usual, silent atmosphere Alfred made his way back upstairs to the waiting boy that he knew he was about to disappoint.

_Yes, Master Bruce, Leslie and I can take the boy to the park ourselves, but it won't be the same. We are not you…and whether you admit it or not, it's you the boy needs. It's you who has the only chance to get through his grief… _

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./1645 EDT]**

The initial contact with the alien menace did not go well. Starro landed just outside Central City, the Flash's hometown. The Scarlet Speedster sent out the 911 to Superman and promptly dropped off the grid. Worried that he'd lost contact with the resident hero at ground zero, Superman sent out an all-points distress call. By the time Batman arrived, the battle was over. In only a few hours, the alien menace had taken out Earth's first line of defense—it's mightiest heroes!

As a defense mechanism, Starro released spores in the shape of a starfish that attached themselves to a human host. Once attached, the spore established a neural link that acted as a telepathic conduit to Starro, giving the creature mental control over the human host. Its mental capabilities were such that it effectively took control of Batman's super-powered colleagues and thousands of innocent civilians.

He'd had to fight his way through a crowd of Starro's zombie-minions, somehow managing to evade their blows. At one point he was surrounded by six of them, and taking a running start, he jumped high and followed with a flying triple spin-split kick, knocking five unconscious.

The sixth, Batman managed to incapacitate with a well-thrown batarang, capturing the Starro spore as it detached from its host and launched itself at the Dark Knight. Ready for the attack, Batman ensnared it with a heavy, Nomex-weave net. Imprisoning the spore in a glass specimen jar, he hurried to the Batwing, intent on taking the specimen back to the Cave. On the flight back, he contacted Lucius Fox, Wayne Corp's head of Research and Development, to meet him there.

"Leaving Central City, 30K Angels, on a northeast vector toward Gotham. Approximately, 1200Ks out. Flight time 90 minutes."

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./1730 EDT]**

The call surprised Lucius, but he was used to his boss's idiosyncrasies. He understood that Batman was heading home from Central City, flying at an elevation of 30 thousand feet and was 90 minutes out. That meant that Lucius had to get some things ready. If he was going to be of any use to Batman, then he had to ensure that he packed the right equipment to take with him. There would be no second chances.

Lucius had developed many of the toys and weapons in Batman's arsenal. The flexible, breathable armor in the Batsuit was manufactured by WayneTech for the military, but rejected due to the high cost. It never got past the prototype phase. That is, until Batman adapted it for his own use. Since that first prototype, the Batsuit had undergone several upgrades—in safety and electronics.

If Alfred Pennyworth was Batman's conscience, keeping him grounded in the pursuit of justice and not revenge, then Lucius Fox was his armorer, a Hephaestus to the Dark Knight, responsible for keeping Batman's weapons up-to-date and non-lethal.

Therefore, when Bruce called, Lucius dropped everything without a second thought. Apologizing to his wife, he quickly explained his need to go into work on a holiday.

"A contractual issue has come up. Bruce was called away unexpectedly to Japan, and he needs me to join him and our clients on a conference call ASAP. I should be home way before the fireworks. Okay?" He snapped his briefcase shut and hurried out the door.

Arriving at the Wayne Corp building, he stepped into the executive private elevator. Inserting his security card into the slot reader, he then pressed a floor to the secret sub-basement that served as one of Batman's satellite caves. It was Lucius' private workshop, which he used to develop Batman's arsenal. He grabbed a few items that he thought he might need and stuffed them in his briefcase.

A few minutes later, Lucius returned to the underground parking and before long was soon breaking the speed limit as he drove toward Wayne Manor. The early holiday traffic had been much heavier than normal. It made the drive toward the manor much longer than its usual 30 minutes. Lucius suspected that the emergency in Central City was beginning to cause panic as far away as Gotham.

Arriving at the heavy wrought-iron gates of Wayne Manor, Lucius barely slowed to allow them to open enough to let him drive through. Flooring it, he covered the meandering, mile-long gravel drive in about three minutes.

_Batman's car has nothing on a Mercedes engine that's been maintained by Lucius Fox_, he smirked.

Pulling into the manor's circular driveway, Lucius parked immediately outside the front portico. Running up the front steps, he was about to press the doorbell when the door suddenly opened.

A pair of sapphire eyes looked up at him in surprise. They were owned by a small, dark-haired boy in a t-shirt with a Batman logo. Lucius bit the inside of his mouth to keep from smirking and deliberately _did not_ roll his eyes.

"Uh…hi," the boy said, his tone unsure.

"Well, hello. You must be Richard," Lucius said in greeting. "I'm Lucius Fox. I work with Mister Wayne. I have been looking forward to meeting you for quite a while now."

"Really?" Dick smiled shyly. "Bruce said you recommended my math tutor, Mr. Palmer."

"Yes, I did. Bruce tells me you're quite the mathlete," Lucius complimented. "And Ray Palmer is one of brightest young men I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. He tells me that you really keep him on his toes."

Dick blushed and shrugged. "I like math…and Mr. Palmer's pretty cool. He makes it fun." He looked suddenly sad. "But he won't be my tutor after August."

"Yes, I'm afraid Ray is finishing his doctorate and still has some lab work to do on his research before his proposed graduation date." He smiled. "But I'm glad that you've liked working with him. I know he's enjoyed tutoring you and will miss your mornings together."

He didn't add that Wayne Corp was in the process of lining up his old math tutor, Toby the Sad Clown, or rather, Christopher Alvarez y Diaz, Ph.D., for the company's R-and-D department. Although Diaz would probably be too busy to actually tutor Dick, Lucius had ideas on having him mentor the boy.

He'd already convinced Bruce that it might be a good idea to have Dick "visit" Wayne Corp at least on a monthly basis—more often if they could fit it into the schedule. Lucius and Diaz would find a way of making the visits interesting. And it would be a fun way for Dick to see how his math skills were actually applied in real life.

But those ideas were still in the planning stage and wouldn't be implemented before September…

Dick nodded and then realized that he hadn't invited Lucius inside.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Fox…Please, come in. Alfred will be real upset I left you standing outside."

Lucius laughed. "That's quite all right, Richard. I've enjoyed meeting you."

"I'll go get Alfred. It was nice meeting you," he called over his shoulder.

Lucius nodded as Dick hurried to find Bruce Wayne's major domo. A few minutes later, Alfred sent Dick outside to "play and enjoy the sun" and led Lucius to the secret entrance in Bruce's study.

Just as the door to the study shut behind him, Dick heard their visitor say something to Alfred, which sounded like, "A Batman t-shirt? Seriously? What are you people thinking…?"

Within the half-hour, unknown to Dick, the Batwing roared into the Cave and came to rest on its landing pad.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**Acknowledgements**: Some ideas and dialogue borrowed from _Batman: Dark Victory_ #8; _All Star Batman and Robin, the Boy Wonder _#9; _Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight_ #100; Gotham City map/points of interest from _Batman: Gotham City Secret Files and Origins_ #1; _The Brave and the Bold_ #28; _BTAS: Robin's Reckoning_ S2E2; _The Sandman_ #1.

**Additional Notes: **A special thanks to my betas—Beth and Ellen. And I'd like to extend an extra-special thanks to everyone who's taken the time to review the story—especially the repeat reviewers. Your words of encouragement are very much appreciated. I hope you keep on enjoying the story.

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to DC, Time Warner, and CN; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

**Copyright**: October 2012


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary**: Dick discovers the family secret.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./1800 EDT]**

Dick soon grew tired of exploring the manor grounds by himself. He wasn't allowed to ride Tornado alone or climb to the top of the oak tree or explore the grounds near the cliffs that overlooked the Gotham River. He wasn't even allowed to play among the dozen or so gables on the manor roof.

At times it felt as if Bruce and Alfred were wrapping him in a protective layer of bubble wrap to keep him from falling and hurting himself. He knew that they were just worried about him, but still. He was used to having relatively free rein at Haly's Circus to run around as he pleased, exploring, climbing, and getting into mischief.

Of course, being a professional performer, he knew his limits and the boundaries he shouldn't cross. He never approached the animal cages without permission nor climbed any of the apparatuses without a spotter—especially the trapeze and tightrope. If he had, Dick wouldn't have had to worry about falling and killing himself. After his dad was done with him, he would've wished he were dead.

Thinking of his dad brought back a sudden onset of grief. Before long, he didn't want to be outside in the dazzling sunshine, among the chirping birds, swaying trees, and fragrant garden. He needed to be somewhere dark and gloomy that accurately reflected his mood.

He returned to the manor, going in through a side entrance. Walking slowly through the labyrinth of darkened rooms and long, echoing hallways, Dick tried not to think about Bruce. He found himself missing his guardian, wanting to talk to him. Despite Bruce's obvious awkwardness in the whole _comforting others_ department, his somewhat clumsy efforts nevertheless made Dick feel better. In fact, the last time Dick had suddenly found himself missing his parents again, Bruce happened to be in the room with him…

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sun., 15 Jun/1630 EDT]**

They had been playing a game of chess, something that Bruce and Dick discovered they had in common. Dick explained that his parents had taught him how to play. It was a favorite pastime of many of the circus performers, and oftentimes during brief layovers, the whole troupe spent a few hours holding mini chess matches, arguing over brackets and whatnot.

Dick had smiled at the happy memories as he regaled Bruce with some of the performers' antics during their chess matches.

The clowns would invariably replace pieces they'd lost by making new ones suddenly appear out of thin air, much to the amusement of the onlookers and annoyance of their opponents. Of course, the one season that Zatara had joined them, the clowns found it impossible to get away with this. With a simple wave of his wand, Zatara spoke backwards and undid the clowns' work.

The jugglers, on the other hand, would keep spinning plates and other objects balanced perfectly at the end of a stick with their hands, their chins, and even their mouths, moving their chess pieces with the toes of one foot—while remaining balanced on the other.

The Graysons usually played together as team. His mom would stand on his dad's shoulders, and Dick would stand on hers. When it was their turn to move, Dick would leap off his mother's shoulders onto his opponent's and cartwheel across the chessboard. As he swept past it, he'd move the chess piece. Of course, it was when his _mom_ made her move that the onlookers were really impressed. Dick would leap high above his parents' heads, and do a triple spin while his mom vaulted from his dad's shoulders.

As her feet touched the ground and she reached to move the chess piece, Dick landed back on his dad's broad shoulders. When his mom was done with the move, Dick leapt and did another triple spin as she cartwheeled and vaulted back onto his dad's shoulders, this time landing in a handstand. As soon as she achieved a perfect form, Dick landed, seated cross-legged on her feet. Then on the count of three, they would reverse—ending with his mom once again standing on his dad's shoulders and Dick on hers.

Despite their crazy antics, no one ever lost track of the games. Chess was taken very seriously by the players, as were the standings in their brackets…

After happily describing their chess matches to Bruce, Dick inexplicably remembered that today was Father's Day, something he'd been trying all day to forget. As abruptly as he recalled the significance of the date, he was just as suddenly hit by a powerful wave of aching loss. For the first time, he realized that he would never participate in another game of chess with his parents and circus family. Before he knew it, he could feel the tears threatening.

Without even realizing how it happened, Dick found himself gathered in Bruce's strong arms, seated on his guardian's lap, and feeling somewhat comforted and secure.

Bruce didn't say much; he just held him and let him cry, offering him a tissue with which to dry his eyes and wipe his nose. Finally, he'd rested his chin on Dick's head and said, "It will get better, buddy. I promise. Maybe not today or even tomorrow. But someday…"

They'd stayed that way for the rest of the afternoon, the long shadows creeping into the study signaling the dinner hour…

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./1830 EDT]**

Reaching the door to Bruce's study, Dick knocked tentatively. Bruce's office was one of the few rooms that had been placed _off limits at all times with no exception_. The only time he was ever allowed inside was if Bruce or Alfred invited him in. Otherwise, he was never to enter.

He recalled that this was where Alfred had led Lucius and figured that he'd find them there. When no answer was forthcoming, he hesitantly pushed the door open. Surprised to find no one there, he searched the rest of the usual places: the kitchen, the den, and the washroom. Checking the front of the house, Dick saw that Lucius' car was still parked there.

"That's funny…I wonder where they went."

Shrugging, Dick decided to wait for them in the family room. Much more casual than the formal den, the family room boasted a media center that included a 100-inch flat screen 3D-HDTV with surround WayneSound-4, the latest in sound systems from WayneTech, and hi-tech goggles that functioned as 3D glasses—also a WayneTech product. The remote control doubled as a game controller.

There was more amazing tech available, but so far that was all that Dick had had the chance to become familiar with.

Donning the 3D-goggles, he got comfortable on the lounger and turned on the TV. He scanned through the channels, pausing at the local 24-hour Gotham News Network (GNN). He checked everyday to see if there were any new leads on Zucco's whereabouts.

This time, something different caught his attention. News from Central City was just reaching the East Coast. Apparently, the country's heartland had been invaded by a real life, living, breathing alien from outer space.

"Whoa…get a load of that monster," he whispered, awed. In the next breath, he scowled, rolling his eyes. "A starfish? How lame! And _Starro_? _Lame_-o is more like it."

However, in the next moment he was sitting up straight in the lounger.

"Hey, is that Batman? He is so _cool_! But, I didn't think he came out during the day…" If that were the case, then the world must be in big trouble. Gotham's Dark Knight was rarely seen in the middle of the day. The next instant, Dick jumped out of his seat—was that a flying triple spin-split kick that Batman had just executed? "_No way_! That's the move I taught Bruce!"

The GNN anchor's voiceover could be heard narrating the video footage: _"The Batman, Gotham's local hero, was seen in Central City today. The Dark Knight, along with several other super-powered heroes, was battling Starro, a strange, non-terrestrial creature, allegedly bent on world conquest. By midday CDT, Starro already held several thousand Central City locals under its thrall, as well as the majority of the 'Super Friends.' The starfish- shaped spores, seen here in the video attached to their victims' faces, are how Starro reportedly controls them."_

As Dick watched, the Caped Crusader struck several of the starfish's zombie minions with enough force to send them flying out of camera range.

"_The Batman was last seen rendering several of the victims unconscious and removing the starfish spore from one…"_

"Bruce…?" Dick whispered. It couldn't be…his guardian _couldn't_ be Batman. Could he? It would explain a lot of things. Why he was always called away at the last minute or late to his games and meets or…had wet hair at 2:00 in the morning, as if he'd just showered…

…Because Batman had just gotten back from his nightly patrol?

"_And in local news…sources inside the GCPD report that Anthony Zucco—_This instantly caught Dick's attention!_—suspect in the double homicide of circus performers, John and Mary Grayson, is believed to still be in Gotham City. Viewers are urged to call the GCPD major crimes hotline if they have any information that may lead to Zucco's capture. Cpt. James Gordon, head of the major crimes unit, warns that Zucco is armed and dangerous and should not be approached."_

By the time the reporter signed off, Dick was shaking. Zucco was still in Gotham. After all this time, his parents' killer was still close enough to be caught. Did Bruce…did _Batman_ know?

Dick thought about this revelation for a moment. Bruce was the World's Greatest Detective after all. Of course, he must know.

_But if he knows about this, then what about Mom and Dad?_ _Bruce was there that night._

Is it possible that he had known or suspected that the circus was being targeted by Zucco? What other reason would Bruce Wayne—no, Batman—have had to be there that night?

But no…That had been the night of the big charity performance—an important event that had been sponsored by the Wayne Foundation. So, okay…Bruce Wayne had had a legitimate excuse to be there. But, had it just been a ruse? Had Bruce been there so that Batman could investigate Zucco?

"Did he let Mom and Dad die?" he whispered. He started to shake, a cold feeling spreading form the pit of his stomach. "No…he wouldn't." He wanted to believe it wasn't true, but how could know one way or the other. Only Bruce would be able to answer his questions, but he was busy saving the world from a giant starfish-shaped alien.

Whatever happened next, Bruce wasn't here. Like always, he had more pressing matters to attend to—like saving the world. He didn't have time to waste on some charity case. What was it Dr. Cunningham had called Dick?

"…Circus trash…and a gypsy, no less..."

No, Tony Zucco had murdered _his_ parents and ruined _his_ life. Zucco owed him and Dick intended to collect. He was a Flying Grayson, and Graysons were known to leap into danger without a net. It was up to him to find Zucco and bring him to justice.

As the last of the Flying Graysons, Dick would do what he'd been born to do: fly without a net or a catcher. He didn't need Bruce or Alfred or Batman! He'd show them. He didn't need _anyone_!

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./1900 EDT]**

Meanwhile, several feet below the manor's thick foundations, Bruce and Lucius analyzed the Starro spore's makeup. Working tirelessly together, they found that it was comprised of an alien nano-technology, made up of literally hundreds of microscopic robots that were absorbed into the host's bloodstream upon contact. On Earth, the technology was so cutting-edge that Wayne Corp was only now beginning to explore its many possibilities.

Once they knew what they were up against, the two brilliant minds behind WayneTech's many innovations worked tirelessly to find the creature's weaknesses. After several more hours of experimentation, subjecting the spore to different scientific tests, Lucius discovered that the alien had two.

First, the nanites had a weakness to cold. When exposed to conditions that mimicked the extreme cold temperatures of the South Pole, the nanites were rendered inert. Second, Starro's giant eye was the creature's most vulnerable point and should be their target.

Going to Cave's souvenir case, Batman removed the freeze gun he'd taken a few short weeks ago from Mr. Freeze, following his latest escape from Arkham. Batman and Lucius worked not only to adapt the freeze gun to the Batwing but also to have it shoot a concentrated flash-freeze beam at Starro's giant eye for at least 30 seconds.

It had taken the small spore less than .001/seconds to succumb to the cold beam. When multiplied by the size of the Starro creature, which was comparable to a three-story building, Lucius calculated that it would take a minimum of 25 seconds of concentrated fire to subdue the monster—30 seconds to be on the safe side. Batman had only one shot, so he had to make it good.

Once they had finished the necessary modifications, Batman climbed onboard the Batwing. As he closed the cockpit, he looked out at his two oldest friends.

Lucius nodded and gave him a thumbs-up.

"Good luck, young sir," Alfred murmured. "Godspeed."

Batman touched two fingers to his temple, giving them a farewell salute.

The two loyal friends watched until the Batwing disappeared into its designated exit tunnel. They could see the telltale runway lights blinking on to indicate that the jet had entered the passage, and then off less than a second later, as it flew past.

The men stood a moment longer, until they heard the sonic boom in the distance, indicating that the supersonic stealth aircraft had cleared the Cave and was already on its way back to Central City.

Wordlessly, they headed up the staircase that led back to the manor, knowing that all they could do now was wait.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./1915 EDT]**

Determined to do something useful to bring his parents' killer to justice, Dick hurried down to Bruce's office. Ignoring the _off limits_ rule, he didn't hesitate this time, walking right inside. He made a beeline toward the desktop computer on Bruce's executive desk and turned it on.

The opening screen remained blank except for a prompt for a username and password. A smirk suddenly came over his usually innocent face. One of the few times Bruce had summoned Dick into the office for a conference with Mr. Palmer, regarding his rapid math advancement, Bruce had been unexpectedly interrupted by an important phone call.

While he usually had Alfred hold his calls, Alfred had stated that "Mister Kent insists it's urgent, sir." Bruce had rolled his eyes, muttered something that sounded like _Kent always insists everything's urgent,_ but took the call anyway.

Apologizing to Palmer and Dick, he moved to his desk and spoke quietly on the phone. Meanwhile, Palmer walked over to the floor-to-ceiling antique bookcases and perused the extensive library collection in the study. Dick propped his chin on his folded arms, which were resting at one end of the desk. Small for his age, Dick was barely chest-high to the desk, but resisted the urge to vault onto its glossy surface.

Still, he watched his guardian's deliberate actions with undisguised curiosity. This wasn't the first time that the mysterious _Mr. Kent _had interrupted them. Dick wondered who he was and why he annoyed Bruce so much.

Bruce said, "Kent, you have impeccable timing. I'm in the middle of something important. Can't this wait?" He sighed. "Of course, not. Wait a minute, while I call it up." Bruce tapped his computer mouse to wake his system, which had timed out. He quickly typed in his username, _btwayne_0219_, and his password.

Of course, the password only appeared as a series of asterisks.

Dick grinned. He'd watched and memorized the keystrokes as Bruce had typed them that day. He didn't do it for any nefarious reason; it was just something that he could do. Like his athletic gifts, his ability to observe his surroundings closely without conscious effort, came naturally to him.

He'd watched askance as Bruce had typed in his password: Time_1047PM. Dick had seen that was the time permanently set on the grandfather clock in the study. He realized that it must be significant, but didn't know why.

He shrugged. If Bruce had wanted him know, he would have told him; however, since he'd never trusted him with _Batman_, Dick doubted that Bruce would ever trust him with this information either. It didn't matter now. He wouldn't be around here much longer anyway. Logging onto the system, Dick was delighted when the computer was ready to give up its secrets...

"_Yes_!" He fist pumped in triumph.

A half hour later, he was almost ready to admit defeat. The encryption program that protected the hidden files was the most complex he'd tackled since Bruce had given him his first laptop. Sitting back, he glared at the steadily blinking cursor.

_It's mocking me_, he grumbled. _It knows that it holds all the cards, and I've got jack. _Stretching his back, he cracked a few vertebrae, stood up and worked loose a muscle cramp. Staring at the clock as if looking for answers, he got an idea.

Turning back to the computer, he started from scratch, using the time on the grandfather clock as his opening gambit against the encryption program. To his amazement, the program accepted the numbers and suddenly began spewing out a heavy volume of code. It stopped after several hundred lines, scrolled by quickly, and prompted for the next part of the code.

Unsure, Dick took a chance and typed in the numbers that were part of the username, _0219_. His efforts proved successful, and this time after the lines of code scrolled past, the screen opened and a bat appeared before him.

"Whoa..."

End of Part 7

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**Acknowledgements**: Some ideas and dialogue borrowed from _Batman: Dark Victory_ #8; _All Star Batman and Robin, the Boy Wonder _#9; _Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight_ #100; Gotham City map/points of interest from _Batman: Gotham City Secret Files and Origins_ #1; _The Brave and the Bold_ #28; _BTAS: Robin's Reckoning_ S2E2; _The Sandman_ #1.

**Additional Notes: **A special thanks to my betas—Beth and Ellen. And I'd like to extend an extra-special thanks to everyone who's taken the time to review the story—especially the repeat reviewers. Your words of encouragement are very much appreciated. Also, I've enjoyed receiving personal messages from some of you. It's always nice to make new friends. Finally, I hope you keep on enjoying the story.

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to DC, Time Warner, and CN; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

**Copyright**: October 2012


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary**: Dick runs away, and as Batman scrambles to return to Gotham, he admits to his growing feelings for his young ward.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./1830 CDT]**

Batman discovered that Starro's mind control over the super-powered heroes negatively affected their fighting prowess, rendering them largely ineffective against him.

"Small favors," he growled. Against his super-powered, mind-controlled colleagues, he'd take whatever advantages he could get. They were all that stood between him and Starro, and if they weren't at their fighting peak, then Batman's chances of taking them down had just increased significantly.

Now, with the superheroes' abilities seriously compromised, and because Batman had studied their individual weaknesses and drawn up contingency take-down plans for each, he was able to knock them out of the action with minimal fuss (or injury to the others) before facing down Starro.

Taking on the giant starfish turned out to be a little more difficult. He ended up a bit worse for wear—the creature's five arms really packed a wallop, almost knocking the Batwing out of the sky—but Batman finally got a bead on the creature's great eye and fired.

As soon as Starro was hit with the cold beam, he started growing lethargic. After 10 seconds, its movements became slower and awkward. Its minions started walking into buildings and each other. After 20 seconds, Starro was no longer able to threaten the attacking Batwing with its appendages, and its zombie minions collapsed in place. After 30 seconds, the creature collapsed as well. Batman kept firing for another 10 seconds for good measure.

When Starro was at last lying frozen and inert, its thousands of spores began to fall from their hosts. They turned a sickly, grayish color, and before long, disintegrated into dust.

By now, the heroes had recovered from their forced thralldom, confused over what had transpired while under Starro's mind-control. Not wasting time with long-winded explanations, Batman quickly and efficiently organized them for the job of rescue and recovery.

Thousands of civilians were just now waking up from Starro-induced nightmares. Hundreds had injuries that needed attention and, in some cases, hospitalization. The death count had reached fifty and was expected to rise. Also, Central City proper had been hit hard by the battle and had been left with quite a large number of damaged buildings. The heroes immediately set out to work with emergency personnel and other local officials to see to the public's needs.

As he gave the heroes their marching orders, Batman took Green Lantern aside to discuss the best method of disposing of the alien creature. Although it was a sentient being, its evil intentions and mental powers were such that the people of Earth couldn't afford to try incarcerating it in a terrestrial prison.

For the safety of all mankind, Batman recommended, and GL (with the concurrence of the Guardians of Oa) agreed, that the best solution was to collect the creature and any of its remaining spores and transport them all into deep space.

"I recommend the Oort cloud," Batman rasped.

GL nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. That lies somewhere beyond the planetary orbit of Pluto, the outermost boundary of our solar system. At that distance from the sun's light and heat, the absolute zero temperatures there should render the creature permanently inert." He gave the Dark Knight a casual salute. "Consider it done."

Smiling, GL took on a bright, emerald aura and lifted effortlessly in silent flight. Aiming his ring at Starro, he frowned in deep concentration. A greenish rocket ship formed around the creature, enclosing it completely. The next instant, GL flew off, green rocket in tow. A burst of emerald light high in the stratosphere signaled the opening of a wormhole.

Satisfied that his job was done, Batman turned without another word and headed toward the Batwing. Climbing into the cockpit, he was about to contact Alfred to let him know he'd be home soon, when he saw that there was a message waiting for him. Had something happened at home?

Frowning, he listened to Alfred's voicemail. As he did, his frown deepened into a worried scowl. How could he have been so blindly focused on the mission? How could he have forgotten about his family? Admittedly, he'd been a coward when he'd asked Alfred to explain his sudden disappearance to Dick. Bruce just hadn't had the heart—or the courage—to face down the boy. And now…?

While Batman had been concentrating all of his time and energy on the mission, he'd put Dick out of his mind, believing that Alfred was meeting his needs—physical and emotional. Convincing himself that they'd have time to talk and get to know each other better once Zucco had been brought to justice.

It looked like it might be too late now, because Dick had run off in search of Zucco by himself…

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./2130 EDT]**

Banking the Batwing into a steep climb, Batman pushed the supersonic stealth aircraft to its limits. He half-listened to Alfred's report, detailing Master Richard's superior computer skills. Apparently, Dick had hacked into Bruce's personal computer, and from there, into the Cave's computer system. Once inside, Dick had found the hidden files on Zucco. As Batman headed back toward Gotham, he accessed the WT-5p 24-core processors that comprised the supercomputers in the Cave to see what the damage was.

_Damn! This is my fault_! He mentally berated himself. _I gave him the tools. Encouraged him to hone his gifts. But I never told him why. Never told him the truth. Now…now he's out there somewhere…all alone. In Gotham City…and sunset on the East Coast is only an hour or so away._

Checking over the files that the boy had accessed, he surmised that Dick had compiled a listing of all Zucco's known hangouts—the same ones that Batman had pre-wired for electronic surveillance and was currently monitoring.

Or, the locations he _had been_ monitoring, because Dick had pulled the plug on the surveillance equipment—he had actually _fried_ them remotely—to ensure that Batman wouldn't know which of the possible 25 locations he'd be checking.

_Stupid move, buddy_, Batman grumbled. _Stupid, but brilliant! Yeah…the kid is definitely scary good. What will he be like at 18? _

Thankfully, Batman was no slouch in the brilliance department. Plus, he had more experience than an 8-year-old boy, brilliant or otherwise. Knowing that Zucco still had a hit out on the boy, Batman had taken precautions to ensure Dick's safety.

And, no, he had not been acting like a "paranoid first-time father-slash-stalker," as Alfred had drolly implied. There was nothing paranoid about his placing micro tracking devices in the kid's clothing. So what if every pair of shoes in Dick's closet—not to mention the collars of his shirts and the waistbands of his pants—were wired to send out a low-level EMP signal?

He hadn't put trackers in Dick's underclothes or socks, had he? That proved he was definitely _not_ a stalker. He was merely the justifiably concerned guardian of a little boy who'd caught the attention of a dangerous mobster. And now, his concerns had been proven correct… so take _that_, Mr. Dry-Witted Butler.

"Alfred, check Dick's closet. What was he wearing? I should be able to track him through his clothing." _And I don't want to activate all the trackers I've installed, _he added silently. _And, no, 256 separate tracking devices are not excessive_.

"Right away, sir."

Was it _his_ fault that Alfred had insisted he take Dick shopping for new clothes? What did he know about shopping? That's why he had Alfred. But the man had given him a look that rivaled the Bat-glare, and Bruce had known better than to argue. _Okay…so, I might've gotten a little carried away, but it's not my fault!_

All those boy-sized items—a guy who'd never gone shopping before couldn't be blamed for not knowing how much clothing an eight-year-old boy would need. To make sure Dick didn't run out of clothes, Bruce had bought 20 sets of everything. And, really, Alfred didn't have to look so patronizing at the number of sets he'd bought.

_Just because the kid'll probably outgrow them before he's had a chance to use half the items I bought doesn't prove anything! _Batman scowled. _Dammit, I was not acting like a first-time father. I've worked with first-time fathers. They're all as whacked as the crazies in Arkham. _

From Bruce's perspective _all_ first-time fathers went overboard, not only buying out the entire inventory of the nearest toy store, but also the children's department_._

He, on the other hand, had only bought items of clothing that Dick would need. _All right, maybe the mini-tuxedo—complete with cummerbund—is a bit much, but Dick needs formal wear for the functions he'll have to attend in the near future. Besides, he'd looked so dashing and adorable in it. _(Those were the tailor's words, not his!) Bruce cringed. _What was I thinking?_

Bruce knew that he must have had a completely goofy grin on his face when Dick posed uncertainly in front of the 3-way mirror, his huge blue eyes peeking out from under his dark bangs. Bruce insisted that he had _not_ been thoroughly smitten by Dick's shy smile. And that the funny squeezing in his chest was more the result of the onions he'd eaten at lunch, rather the innocent childlike gaze that was completely winning him over.

It didn't help when the team of sales people all _oohed_ and _ahh-ed_ and exclaimed how "Your son looks so much like you! He'll be the Prince of Gotham!"

_I am Batman…I am the night! _He reminded himself harshly. _I am not smitten! _

A few minutes later, Alfred was back on line. "Sir, the young master was wearing his favorite athletic shoes—the ones that light up with each step—"

(Bruce could almost see Alfred's disdainful eye roll, but as Dick had said when he'd first seen them, "The flashing lights are _awesome!_")

"—and a pair of jeans—numbers 1, 2, and 4 are in the clothes hamper; numbers 5 and 6 are also accounted for. Only number 3 is missing."

"Got it…the LED sneakers and number 3 jeans. What about shirt or jacket?"

"The red wind breaker and the blue t-shirt with the Superman logo are both missing." He paused.

(The Superman shirt had not been Bruce's idea, but Dick had been so excited when he'd seen it, that Bruce hadn't the heart to say no. Of course, in this one case, he refused to buy more than one. After all, how many Superman t-shirts does a kid need, anyway? Instead, he tossed a Batman t-shirt into the steadily growing pile of clothing, before heading toward the cash register. The cashier's eyes widened at the sight of the teetering mound of boys' clothes that he dumped onto her work area. Eventually, it took a team of five sales clerks and the manager to ring up his purchases.)

"I'm sorry to report, sir," Alfred was saying, "but I found the Batman t-shirt Master Richard was wearing today in the rubbish bin."

Batman felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. He reflexively tightened his hands on the controls, causing the Batwing to suddenly drop several hundred feet.

"That's his way of letting me know that he knows," Bruce, not Batman, said regretfully. "That he's angry with me."

"Sir, Master Richard is a very forgiving and loving boy. You will get through this ordeal…together."

"I hope so, Alfred. By not confiding in him, I hurt him—badly."

Bruce could only hope that Alfred was right. He'd committed a lot of mistakes with Dick, but the biggest had been refusing to be the father the boy needed, and failing to bring him 100 percent into the fold. By not telling Dick his secret, Bruce had been forced to keep him at arm's length, unable to let him get too close. Now, it seemed Dick wouldn't want him even if he offered.

Sighing, he activated the tracking devices in order to find his mini-rebel. The sooner he had Dick safely home and tucked in bed, the sooner he could begin to make it up to him. Until then, it wasn't his own needs that were important. This situation wasn't about him; it was about Dick and what _he_ needed. But first, Batman had to locate him, so that Bruce could have a long talk with him.

The low-level EMP signal suddenly showed up on the Batwing's onboard radar. The signal was moving steadily in a southwesterly direction at approximately 40mph.

_Obviously too fast for a small boy to be traveling on foot, but too slow for a taxi. Probably traveling by bus… There's a bus stop about two miles east of the manor's front gates. A lot of the non-live-in domestics that work in the Bristol area take that bus each day. Dick could've easily caught the Bristol-Gotham Express from there. This kid's got guts as well as brains… not much sense, though._

Calling up the city map overlay, revealed that Dick was traveling on I-60E, which bypassed the city proper along its eastern-most edge. He was currently crossing Aparo Bridge, heading south toward Port Adams.

"Alfred, check the municipal bus schedule for the Bristol-Gotham route. What's the express bus's last stop before it turns back?"

"I believe that would be the Tri-Corner Yards, sir. The city's southern-most point."

"And one of its least savory. Okay, that's where I'm heading, unless Dick stops sooner. But I'm guessing he's headed toward Zucco's last-known hangout there—Oxey's Lounge."

"Oh, dear…_Unsavory_ hardly describes such a place. Is it not_…(ahem)…_a strip joint—if you'll pardon my use of the vernacular?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Should I inform the authorities, sir?"

"Not yet, Alfred. I don't want to tip off Zucco and possibly place Dick's life in any further danger than it is."

"Yes, sir. What is your ETA?"

"I'm 60 minutes out."

"Very good, sir."

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./2030 EDT]**

After he signed off with Batman, Alfred sat back on the oversized executive desk chair in Bruce's study. As soon as he and Lucius had emerged from the Cave and stepped into the study, Alfred knew that something was amiss.

For one, the heavy, drawn curtains were fluttering in the breeze, indicating that the French doors leading outside to a hedge-enclosed patio were open. The private patio had been a favorite of Mrs. Wayne's, and she would often sit out there with her correspondence. She preferred the fresh breeze from the Gotham River, which lay out beyond the forested cliffs that lined the deep river gorge, to the artificial air conditioning indoors.

Alfred happened to know that those doors had been closed and locked when he'd gone downstairs into the Cave, because no one save he, in order to ensure the patio's upkeep, had stepped through them since that terrible night 25 years ago. And he had the only key.

When he examined the lock, Alfred saw that it had been expertly jimmied. Exasperated, he wondered just what Master Bruce had been teaching the boy.

It was only later, after he and Lucius had wasted precious time searching for Dick on the grounds leading toward the cliffs, that he realized he had been duped by a simple ruse. While they'd been out looking for Dick along the western edge of the property, the boy had been scaling the manor gates, located over a mile away from the front door, in the opposite direction.

Once Alfred and Lucius determined that Dick was gone—the missing clothes, dry snack food, and backpack were definite clues—Alfred made a call to Batman and left a voicemail for him.

"I'll drive back to the city," Lucius offered, "and keep an eye out for him. A little kid all alone and on foot can't be too hard to spot, right?"

At Alfred's expression, Lucius' hopeful look fell. "Yeah, that's what I thought." At the door, Lucius paused. "Stay in touch."

"The same to you."

Alone in the study, Alfred looked up at the portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne. He could almost feel their disapproval raining down on him.

"I'm afraid that I've failed them both. I should have found a way to turn your son from his dark, relentless mission; instead, I've enabled him through more ways than I care to admit. Now…I've failed that small boy, too."

Alfred bowed his head in shame. "I wish you had the opportunity to meet him. Master Richard could be your own grandson, he's so much like Master Bruce was at that age: frighteningly bright with those beautiful, intelligent eyes that see so much. And everything he feels or thinks is reflected in them—his pain, which is never entirely gone; the _joie de vivre_—love of life—in everything he does."

Alfred turned pensive, his expression softening. "I believe that he has been good for Master Bruce, as well. When they're together, it is a sight to behold, sir…madam. Master Bruce looks proud and has even smiled once or twice, when the young master has done something particularly well. And Master Richard absolutely glows whenever Master Bruce gives him even the smallest bit of praise."

Alfred picked up a framed 5-by-7 picture of his two charges after they'd ridden their dirt bikes down a mountain trail that turned out to have a mud-filled section due to a sudden summer runoff. They were both covered from head to toe in black, slimy mud, but their wide grins told the whole story.

"I wanted them to bond, to allow their relationship to develop naturally, to grow closer as father and son. I did not question the lessons that Master Bruce was giving Master Richard, nor why he chose the particular ones he did. Oh…and we hired a brilliant young man—Ray Palmer—to tutor the boy over the summer." He shook his head ironically.

"The intent was to help Master Richard catch up on his studies in order to be at grade level when he enrolled in school this coming fall term. Much to our chagrin and delight, we discovered that the new member of our household is quite the child genius. I believe that Mr. Palmer described him as having a beautiful mind, one that will require careful nurturing. I would go one step further: Master Richard has a beautiful heart, which is still healing and also in need of nurturing."

Alfred threw up his hands in exasperation. "What am I saying? The boy needs love—pure and simple. I already love the boy, as much as I love your son…my son now, if you'll forgive my boldness. But what Master Richard needs is a father's love…and that is something that only Master Bruce can give him. I've said it. Leslie has said it. Even Dr. Sandford has suggested it."

He turned beseeching eyes to the icons that he had spent a lifetime trying to live up to. "What I'm afraid of is that that is the one thing Master Bruce may be unable—or unwilling—to give him. And heaven help us all with what will happen should that be the case."

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

End of Part 8

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**Acknowledgements**: Some ideas and dialogue borrowed from _Batman: Dark Victory_ #8; _All Star Batman and Robin, the Boy Wonder _#9; _Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight_ #100; Gotham City map/points of interest from _Batman: Gotham City Secret Files and Origins_ #1; _The Brave and the Bold_ #28; _BTAS: Robin's Reckoning_ S2E2; _The Sandman_ #1.

**Additional Notes: **A special thanks to my betas—Beth and Ellen. And I'd like to extend an extra-special thanks to everyone who's taken the time to review the story—especially the repeat reviewers. Your words of encouragement are very much appreciated. Also, I've enjoyed receiving personal messages from some of you. It's always nice to make new friends. Finally, I hope you keep on enjoying the story.

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to DC, Time Warner, and CN; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

**Copyright**: October 2012


	9. Chapter 9

11

**Summary**: Dick takes a bus ride, revisits that terrible night at Haly's Circus, and has a run-in with a dark stranger.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./2150 EDT]**

Dick watched the passing scenery as the bus traveled steadily south. He'd caught it a little over a mile from the house. A lone woman sitting patiently at the bus stop had smiled at him, and when asked, she told him the bus was running a bit late but would be arriving soon. After that, they'd sat back and waited in silence.

Taking a seat about halfway back on the bus, Dick assessed the other passengers. After studying them askance for a few minutes, he decided that they were just people going home after a long day of work. Dismissing them from his mind, he looked out the window, taking in the changing scenery.

About a half-mile from the manor, they passed the turnoff to Brentwood Academy, a local boarding school. Bruce had discussed the pros and cons of Dick's enrolling at Brentwood or another boarding school, but in the end had dismissed it. There were enough good schools in the Bristol area that Dick could attend and still be able to sleep in his own bed. Dick had nodded happily in agreement.

They planned on visiting some of the private schools in Bristol and Gotham City in August during the summer open house season. Bruce and Dick perused several school brochures, went online and visited school websites, and even contacted former students to hear what they had to say. It was fun doing the research with Bruce. Even Ray Palmer helped by introducing them to his girlfriend Jean Loring, a law student, who'd graduated from Gotham Academy.

Dick had been looking forward to visiting the schools with Bruce. Their research had helped them pare down the number of schools from 15 to 5. The walk-through during each school's open house would be the final step in making a well-informed decision.

Besides, as Bruce told Dick, "You're the one who's going to be spending 7 to 8 hours a day at whatever school we finally select. I want you to feel that you'll be happy there." Dick sighed sadly. He remembered how happy and warm Bruce's words had made him feel inside: first for not wanting to send him away to boarding school; then, for wanting him to have a say in whatever school he enrolled in. Dick had felt as if his opinion mattered to Bruce. Now, he knew it had all been a lie.

Blinking back the threatening tears, Dick leaned his forehead against the window, concentrating on the mile markers as they flashed past. Soon, they were crossing the Kane Memorial Bridge heading toward the Robbinsville neighborhood, a somewhat toney area. Robbinsville had recently enjoyed an influx of money, which had resulted in a surge of urban renewal.

Several brownstones dating back to the turn of the 20th century had undergone a recent multi-million dollar renovation. Signs put up strategically by the construction companies along the areas undergoing a facelift announced a financial team comprised of several Gotham City banks, federal grants, and the Wayne Foundation.

Mostly, young urban professionals called the area home, their lifestyle reflecting a certain sophistication with a slightly bohemian bent. Cape Carmine, Robbinsville's lowest point, which jutted out into the Atlantic Ocean, afforded the 20 to 30-somethings an exciting nightlife with plenty of mid-priced restaurants and upscale clubs. It was also a haven for unique shops, bookstores, coffee houses, and a multiplex cinema.

Dick remembered that only a few weeks ago, Batman had stopped a purse-snatching ring that had been operating in the area, targeting young couples as they strolled the pedestrian walkways that ran adjacent to the waters off the cape. Batman would not have gotten involved, except that one robbery attempt had resulted in the couple getting shot. They'd been walking with their five-year-old son, who'd witnessed the crime.

Dick paused, recalling what had happened to Bruce's parents. Was that why Bruce became Batman, he wondered? He remembered his own parents' tragic fall. If Bruce had let him, Dick would have been only too glad to help him out. It saddened him to realize that Batman had no one to watch his back, and that he was always out there all alone.

Soon, they were crossing the Sprang Bridge, and he could see the stadium lights of Knights Dome. Bruce had promised him that they'd catch a Knights game once the season started, but Dick supposed that wasn't going to happen now.

His dad had liked the Gotham Knights. In between the circus' event dates, John Grayson, the Great Marko, and Pop Haly would have tailgate parties off the stoop of the Graysons' trailer and watch the games on Pop's black-and-white, 13-inch TV. Dick still had his dad's Gotham Knights leather jacket. John had picked it up years ago, before he'd met Mary; before there had even been a Knights Dome. John and his dad, Dick's grandfather, had taken in a Knights game during a week's layover in Gotham.

Regretfully, Dick had left the jacket hanging in his closet back at the manor. He'd been forced to leave a lot of his stuff back there. There was no helping it now. He'd made up his mind. There was no going back.

Bruce didn't trust him. He was just a charity case, nothing more. Bruce hadn't even tried to save his parents that night. No, that wasn't fair. Dick didn't know that for certain, but what other explanation could there be? Unable to think of the implications of that accusation, he let his mind wander to other safer topics…

After he'd found the hidden file with Zucco's known hideouts, he'd laid out a false trail for Alfred to follow. It wasn't much, just unlocking the French door that opened out to a small, private patio.

It had been real pretty out there, the patio furnished with a small, wrought iron table and a single matching chair. The area had been enclosed with a high, neatly trimmed hedge and edged with fragrant, brightly colored flowers. Dick had spotted butterflies and bees hovering lazily among the summer blossoms.

He'd wondered at the time if Bruce ever sat and relaxed out there. Since he was rarely invited into Bruce's private sanctum, Dick couldn't know for certain; however, he was inclined to doubt whether his guardian ever took a moment to do so. It was just another mystery he'd never solve.

Afterward, Dick had run upstairs and hurriedly packed a few changes of clothing. He'd made sure to stuff Elinore and a framed 8-by-10 of the Flying Graysons that he kept on his desk. About to leave he caught his reflection in the dresser mirror and scowled at the Batman logo on his chest. In a fit of sudden pique, he quickly removed the Batman t-shirt and pointedly threw it into the small garbage can in his room. Going through the dresser drawers, he dug out the Superman t-shirt.

His mom had liked and admired Superman. She'd teased Dick that with his successful performance of the quad, he'd proven that you didn't need super-powers in order to fly. That night she'd given him a pair of cotton pajamas with a Superman logo. He'd immediately grabbed one of her towels and tied it around his neck. He'd then proceeded to jump from every surface in their trailer. That was why he'd asked for the Superman t-shirt—because it reminded him of his mom…

While his mind had drifted, the bus had crossed over Miller Harbor on the Aparo Expressway. To his right he could see the illuminated twin steeples of Gotham Cathedral. To his left he knew lay the infamous federal prison, Blackgate Island. Far out across the water, he could just make out the glow of the prison compound security lights in the encroaching gloom. The next minute, the bus passed underneath the highway sign announcing the turnoff onto Finger Causeway, the only way on and off the island.

Dick shivered nervously. He didn't like to be even this close to the notorious prison. As the bus continued onto the last leg of its route, Dick watched the lights from Blackgate Island as they receded into the distance. Lost in thought, he failed to notice as the bus approached the Tri-Corner area…

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[No Date/No Time]**

…In his mind, he can hear the distant sounds of calliope music and laughing crowds calling to him. He stands proudly in center ring between his mom and dad as they are introduced to the admiring crowd. As one, the three remove their cloaks and toss them regally aside…

Next, he stands on the high platform, awaiting his signal. His dad swings out first for a few warm up passes. The consummate showman, the elder Grayson lifts himself upward to a sitting position on the trapeze bar, and then dramatically drops back, eliciting a startled cry from the audience. The collective gasps of fear change briefly to embarrassed laughter and a smattering of applause when the crowd realizes that this is all part of the act.

John Grayson is now swinging back and forth in an upside-down position. Catching Dick's eye, he claps his hands sharply and yells out loud, "_Hut_!"

Hearing his signal, Dick swings out for his part of the act. He knows without looking that his mom is watching him perform with delighted eyes, her beautiful face alight with her wide smile.

Gaining speed, the swing reaches the desired point on its upward arc. Dick releases his hold on the trapeze bar and flies off into the spotlights. He turns in midair, the drummer hitting a rim shot for each turn—one, two, three—_four_ times! He hangs in midflight, defying gravity for an eternity, as the world seems to slow down to a standstill…

Suddenly, time resumes its normal flow, and Dick feels his dad's rough, calloused hands close around his wrists in his sure grip. The audience erupts in wild cheers and applause, almost drowning out his dad as he again signals "_Hut_!" and releases Dick. The boy does a 180-degree turn, catches his swing on its return arc, and flies back onto the waiting platform where he takes a well-deserved bow. His dad isn't the only showman in the family.

Up next: "John and Mary—the Flying Graysons! And now they'll show you why little Dicky Grayson still has a thing or two to learn from his mom and dad!" John and Mary perform an aerial ballet, as beautiful and breathtaking as it is dangerous! 100 feet in the air—without a net.

And then the unthinkable happens: The ropes snap. The crowd gasps. His mom reaches out to him, calling his name. _"Dick!"_

His dad flips in midair, and cries out, _"Mary!"_ as his hand closes around her wrist with his sure grip.

Dick watches as they fall, fall…fall forever, swallowed by the inky black maw far below. Their silent cries are lost amidst the ear-splitting screams of the crowd. Dick's eyes focus on their hands, clasped together in the Grayson grip.

As with everything they did in life, John and Mary Grayson face Death together, presenting a formidably united front. As they disappear into the abyss, the sight of their clenched hands is indelibly imprinted in his mind. A sickening wet sound echoes in the sudden silence as their bodies impact in the middle of center ring.

Long after, he kneels between their bloody, mangled bodies, staring at their still-clasped hands, which refused to let go even in the face of Death.

Suddenly, his dad's eyes snap open, startling him. "_You let us die,"_ they accuse mutely. Inexplicably, John stands on wobbly legs and helps Mary to her feet. They resemble marionettes with broken strings barely able to maintain their balance. This is just _wrong_! On their wedding day, John and Mary Grayson danced a waltz on the high wire. These thoughts flit through his mind as they both glare at him in silent accusation.

"_I'm sorry,_" Dick whispers.

"_You've moved on and forgotten us already,"_ Mary says.

"_And replaced me with Bruce Wayne,"_ John adds.

"_No! Never!" _He denies. But, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that what they say is at least partially true.

John and Mary turn away and fade into the deep shadows that surround center ring. Dick stands alone in the single spotlight.

"_Please, you have to believe me,"_ he whispers. The answering silence mocks him. _"All my fault…I'm sorry…"_

"_It's not, you know…your fault, I mean."_

Dick looks in direction of the new voice. It seems oddly familiar. _"Who's there?"_

A dark figure appears from the shadows. He is tall and well built, his clothes somewhat old-fashioned as if from another era. He wears a gray fedora; a dark, full-length overcoat; and a charcoal gray, double-breasted suit. Brown leather gloves and a matching brown leather pouch complete the picture.

"_Dr. Sandford?"_ Dick asks, not sure if he recognizes his psychologist. At his question, Sandford steps out of the shadows until he is standing before him. _"What are you doing here?"_

"_Observing." _Sandford shrugs._ "And you?"_

Dick looks down, his guilt gnawing at him._ "I don't know."_

Sandford studies him silently._ "I think you do. You keep coming back here—each night that you dream of them. Only you don't remember your parents the way they were before this night—loving, smiling, kind."_

Dick doesn't say anything, just stares at his feet.

"_Why won't you remember them as they really were? Why are conjuring these imposters?"_

Dick's eyes flash angrily at him. _"You don't know what you're talking about! They're not imposters! They're my mom and dad. And they're all I have left. I won't let you talk about them like that."_

Sandford shakes his head in disagreement. Abruptly, he turns and faces the shadows. _"Come out into the light, you imposters, where the boy can see you…And I mean, really see you! Stop hiding in the shadows!"_

At his words, the bloodied figures of John and Mary Grayson, still dressed in the costumes they were wearing that night, slowly emerge. Husband and wife look angry and resentful, but they still obey. They stop just shy of the circle illuminated by the lone spotlight; however, where they stand is enough to show their features clearly.

"_Look at them, Richard. These aren't your parents…not the real parents you knew and loved; the parents who loved you back. These are but shadows conjured up by your subconscious because of your feelings of guilt." _

Dick shakes his head in denial. "_No…they're my real parents. I love them!"_

Sandford lays his gloved hand on Dick's shoulder. _"Richard, these two are but a weak reflection of the real John and Mary Grayson. And because they're not your real parents, they're incapable of feeling real love."_

"_Don't listen to him, Dick!" _Mary cries out. _"You're my little Robin…" _At her words of affection, she holds her arms out to Dick, who promptly runs into them. _"You'd never turn your backs on us and replace us with that Bruce Wayne, would you_?"

"_You're darned right, Mary,"_ John Grayson replies. He envelops his small family in his arms. _"Our little bird here would never turn his back on his real mom and dad. Would you, little Robin?"_

Dick is about to agree, when Sandford steps in. _"Imposters, you may fool him for the short term, but Richard is too wise for the likes of second-tier sleep demons, such as you. Enjoy your brief triumph, because it will pass soon enough."_

John becomes angry, belligerent. He stomps over to Sandford and points a finger at his chest. "_Get lost, Sandman! We're his family. He belongs to us!"_

"_Richard belongs to no one,"_ Sandford says, walking around John. _"He has free will and a very strong mind to go with it." _He looks long and hard at Dick, forcing him to look back. "_You choose to believe these two hollow shadows are your parents because of your feelings of guilt. Each night the dream is the same: you watch them fall and then your father's eyes accuse you of letting them die. You choose to let them punish you for something you had no control over. Richard, I want you to ask yourself…would your parents have punished you for something you did not do?"_

He glares at the Mary imposter who tightens her arms around Dick. The John imposter, who has already joined them, smirks at Sandford as he places his arms around them both. Sandford returns his attention to Dick. The merest flicker of doubt passes across Dick's face. Sandford smiles. That is all the boy needs tonight—just a tiny flicker of doubt.

"_Richard, when you're ready to be happy again, you'll be able to let go of the guilt. And at that time, you'll begin to remember your parents as they really were…" _Sandford deliquesces into the shadows…

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./2230 EDT]**

"Last stop!" the bus driver called over his shoulder. "Everybody out!"

Dick had been lost in his memories, when the bus driver's loud voice cut through his reverie, bringing back to reality. He looked around uncertainly. He was the last passenger onboard. The kindly lady whom he met at the Bristol bus stop must have gotten off before the bus made its final turn into the Tri-Corner area.

He looked out the window. The street corner where the bus had come to a stop was shrouded in darkness. A lone street lamp loomed in the darkness, a tall sentinel attempting to keep the encroaching shadows at bay. Its weak bulb sent out feeble light tendrils that barely pierced the gloom. In fact, there were few working streetlights in the entire city block to illuminate the night. Out of those that were still standing, only 1-in-3 had a working light bulb, spotlighting scantily dressed women standing in different bored poses, waiting for customers.

It was into this sinister, shadowy underworld that the Bristol-Gotham Express bus was about to drop off its sole remaining passenger. Dick slowly made his way to the front, putting off disembarking as long as possible. As he reached the exit in the front of the bus, the pneumatic doors hissed open.

Before stepping off, Dick took out a crumpled piece of paper with a picture of a disreputable person, scowling at the camera. "Sir, can you help me? I'm looking for my uncle. Have you seen him?" As he spoke, Dick held up the picture so the driver could get a better look.

The driver studied the picture momentarily, shaking his head. "No…can't say that I have." He shrugged. "Sorry." As Dick was about to step off, the driver called to him. "Son, are you sure this is where you want to get off?"

"Yes, sir. I have to find my uncle. He works at Oxey's Lounge. Do you know where that is? It's really important."

The bus driver shook his head disapprovingly. "Yeah, kid, I know where Oxey's Lounge is, and let me tell you…It's no place for a nice kid like you. Do yourself a favor and stay away from there. It's trouble."

Dick held his chin up bravely, but inside he was quivering. He did not want to go out into the dark. It reminded him too much of the same inky blackness that he kept seeing his parents fall into in his dreams. But he had to ask.

"Please, sir…it's really important." Dick's blue eyes beseeched him.

Sighing, the bus driver's shoulders slumped. "Okay, kid. But I think you're making a big mistake. Go ten blocks down in that direction—" He pointed the way they had just come. "—until you get to Water Street. It's the old warehouse district that used to serve the docks. Take a left. Go down three more blocks. It should be on the corner of Water Street and Shoreline Drive."

Nodding, Dick folded the picture again and stuck it in the pocket of his windbreaker.

_It's the old red light district_, the driver wanted to say, _but that isn't the kind of thing you say to a little kid._ _Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! The kid looks barely six or seven!_ His oldest girl's middle boy was about the same age. _What am I doing letting this baby go out into such a dangerous neighborhood alone? It's not safe for grown men, let alone a little kid. _The worried driver was about say something, when Dick smiled and gave him a friendly wave.

"Thank you, sir. I sure do appreciate your help." Taking a deep breath, Dick straightened his shoulders and stepped off the bus.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./2230 EDT]**

Batman noticed when Dick's speed slowed considerably. He'd gone from an intermittent 35-40 mph, with periodic stops, to moving at a snail's pace.

_He's gotten off the bus and is now on foot. _Batman checked the map coordinates. _Damn, he's heading toward the Tri-Corner warehouse district—alone and on foot! And I'm still 30 minutes out!_

Seething, he slammed his fist onto the instrument panel, and immediately a warning horn blasted inside the cockpit announcing that the aircraft had gone into a stall.

_Dammit! _He'd accidentally struck the aircraft's elevator control, which exceeded the Batwing's angle of attack in flight. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ As he mentally berated himself, he approached the problem coolly and proficiently. He spent the next few minutes adjusting rudder control and pulling the Batwing out of the stall and back on course. _And I said that __**Dick**__ wasn't acting very bright_, he chastised sardonically.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./2245 EDT]**

Dick walked quickly, shoulders slightly hunched, nervous over the unfamiliar sounds and smells that assaulted his senses. Ten city blocks was almost a mile. The suffocating darkness made it seem even longer.

Periodically, light spilled out from recessed doorways that opened and closed quickly. Dim figures stumbled from them, reeking of alcohol and cheap perfume. From behind them, the sounds of cackling laughter and discordant music could be heard just as the doors slammed shut again.

Dick didn't dare approach any of those people for help. He'd seen the frightening effects of alcohol on grownups when Pop had fired some roustabouts who'd gotten drunk on the job. Their angry shouts and general unruliness had left a lasting impression. Avoiding the drunks as they staggered on their way, Dick huddled against the building, staying perfectly still so as not to attract attention, and only continuing again when the coast was clear.

As he walked, the wind suddenly picked up. He zipped up against the unexpected chill. The distinct smell of ozone in the air and sounds of distant thunder announced the fast-approaching storm. The cool, fresh breeze trailed old newspapers and other debris along its wake. Before long, the skies opened up, drenching Dick in the sudden deluge.

At one point, another person caught out in the rain bumped into him. At first, the man was apologetic and disentangled himself from Dick. However, once he got a good look at the small, beautiful child that he'd run into, his eyes turned avaricious.

"Well, well, well…what have we here?" he asked. Dick did not like the creepy way the man was looking at him. "Who do you belong to, and do they know you're out here all alone?" By now the dark stranger had a tight grip on Dick's arm. Holding the boy firmly with one hand, he ran the other one along his hair, down his cheek, and down the other arm. "C'mon, kid…let's you and me get out of the rain. I got me a real cozy room at the Apollo, just a couple of blocks down."

If Dick had been nervous when they'd first bumped against each other and the dark stranger took him by the arm, he was downright terrified by now.

Shaking his head, he fought to free his arm. "No…I can't. I have to go find my uncle. He's waiting for me!"

"Don't sweat it, kid. You've got plenty of time, I'm sure. And your uncle wouldn't want you to catch your death out here in this weather, would he? Besides…you know what I got in my room? A new puppy. What do you think about that?"

As he spoke, the stranger started pulling on Dick's arm, forcing the small boy to follow along. Dick might have been young and mostly innocent, but he wasn't naïve. The dark stranger was setting off all kinds of alarm bells in his head. He knew that this man was dangerous and that he needed to get away from him as quickly as possible.

Planting his feet firmly on the sidewalk, Dick yanked back on this arm as hard as he could. The dark stranger only laughed. The next instant his entire demeanor changed. His amused look became ugly. He jerked Dick roughly, the grip on his arm turning painful.

Leaning in until he was nose-to-nose with his prize, he spoke in low growl. "Listen, kid…You're gonna behave, understand? You're coming with me, and you're not giving me no trouble, got it?"

Dick only nodded, unable to speak. As he felt himself being dragged off toward the dark stranger's lair, Dick began getting mad. He'd come all this way to get even with Zucco, and now this creepy stalker was going to ruin everything. Remembering the self-defense lessons that Bruce had patiently taught him over the summer, Dick came to a decision.

_I'm not just gonna stand by and let this guy hurt me. Bruce showed me how to turn the tables on the bad guys and how to make sure they never hurt anyone ever again. It's time I put those lessons to good use._

Using his free hand, he grabbed onto the dark stranger's arm and used it as leverage to swing his legs up in a power kick to the man's jaw. As soon as he connected, the repellent stranger cried out in pain and loosened his hold on Dick's arm. That was all Dick needed. He directed his momentum to carry him up and over the dark stranger.

As he was about to clear the man's shoulders, Dick kicked off them, flying into a triple spin-split kick. The combination kick took the would-be child predator by surprise, and, in a nice moment of karma, slammed him headfirst into a brick wall, knocking him unconscious.

**[Sat., 4 Jul./2250 EDT]**

Batman checked his ETA: 10 minutes out of Gotham air space. Doppler radar picked up a fast-moving weather front that cut a swath through the lower part of the city—mostly in the Tri-Corner area. This was the area where Dick was currently on foot, largely unprotected—in just a t-shirt and light jacket. So, of course, the area would get a clipper. Frustrated, he checked for the tracers' signal.

Nothing.

Frowning, he retyped the query for the locator signal. This time he got a brief signal surge, then nothing. Batman sat back in the cockpit, feeling suddenly weak. The EMP signals were dead. The only ones he was picking up were back at Wayne Manor, from the items Dick hadn't taken with him.

_The rain! One lousy rainstorm and the tracers are rendered inop._

He thought back to his decision not to encase the tracers in a hardened protective covering, believing that would only make them heavy enough to be easily detected.

_Stupid move, Wayne! _He berated himself.

Sighing, he wanted to hit something, but didn't. He _did not_ need a repeat of the last time he'd slammed his fist into the instrument panel.

_I cannot catch a break_, he fumed silently.

Activating the radio, he reported to Alfred. "Approaching jump coordinates. At 2300 hours, alert the GCPD that Dick is missing, his possible location, and Zucco's probable involvement." Not waiting for an acknowledgement, Batman signed off and banked the Batwing on final approach.

The time was 2250 hours. He had ten minutes to find Dick before the GCPD swooped in with sirens blaring and emergency lights flashing.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**End Part 9**

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**Acknowledgements**: Some ideas and dialogue borrowed from _Batman: Dark Victory_ #8; _All Star Batman and Robin, the Boy Wonder _#9; _Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight_ #100; Gotham City map/points of interest from _Batman: Gotham City Secret Files and Origins_ #1; _The Brave and the Bold_ #28; _BTAS: Robin's Reckoning_ S2E2; _The Sandman_ #1.

**Additional Notes: **A special thanks to my betas—Beth and Ellen. Their comments regarding Dick's bus ride forced me to revisit this section again and again to cut out extraneous detail. I probably didn't cut enough, but believe me—it's much better now than it was at first. Once again, I'd like to say thanks to everyone who's taken the time to review the story—especially the repeat reviewers. (You know who you are!) Your words of encouragement have been very much appreciated. Finally, thanks for sticking with the story.

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to DC, Time Warner, and CN; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

**Copyright**: October 2012


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary**: Dick confronts Tony Zucco, and Batman isn't far behind.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./2250 EDT]**

Grinning in satisfaction, Dick started back in the direction he'd been heading earlier. This time he was skipping happily ahead, jumping into puddles with both feet to see how big a splash he could make, and cartwheeling without his hands touching the ground just for the fun of it. The darkness that blanketed this part of town seemed to slough off the boy, unable to hold its own against his inner light.

Soon, he found himself in the warehouse district. Common sense prevailed and he slowed down, taking in his surroundings. Before long, he spotted a fire escape and made his way to it. A few minutes later, he was on the roof of one of the abandoned businesses overlooking Oxey's Lounge. The neighborhood was a slum with boarded up storefronts and fading signs.

Oxey's Lounge fit right in. Dick was not impressed. From the outside, the building looked like a dump. The sign identifying the place hung from the roof and down the building's tired-looking façade, stopping just above the front entrance. It was in the shape of a woman's leg, with high-heeled, platform shoes. The pose, meant to look seductive, was lost on the young child. He just thought it looked stupid. His mom used to wear tights, but she never wore them with dumb shoes like that.

The sign was lit in garish, lavender neon, while a darker purple outlined the leg. Flashing pink letters traveled vertically down the leg, spelling out _OXEY'S_ in all caps, the _X_ and _Y_ permanently burnt out. At the lower end of the sign, _Gentlemen's Lounge_ followed in horizontal letters. (The _Gent_ and _ounge_ were also blacked out, never to be replaced.):

**O**

X

**E**

Y

'

**S**

Gent**lemen's L**ounge

Therefore, rather than sexy or inviting, the sign, coupled with the worn building's dingy façade and crumbling brickwork, simply looked tawdry, a reminder of the downturn—both economic and social—of the Tri-Corner area.

As he stood on the rooftop studying the darkened windows of the strip joint across from him, Dick noticed that sometime between his taking down the dark stranger and reaching the corner of Water Street and Shoreline Drive, the drenching rain had stopped. A dense mist had settled in its place, shrouding the Tri-Corner area in its gossamer veil. There was a wet chill in the air that cut through Dick's light windbreaker and the rest of his sodden clothing.

A muted light suddenly came on in a second story window, covered by a roll-down shade. Dick could make out dark silhouettes moving behind the shades. It was probably the building's office or perhaps a walkup apartment. Either way, it was a safe bet that Tony Zucco would be found there.

Checking the time he saw that it was 11:00 p.m. Making up his mind, Dick hurriedly climbed down the fire escape and dashed across the street to Oxey's. It was time he paid Mr. Zucco a visit.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./2300 EDT]**

High above the glittering city, a shadow glided silently in the night. A close observer, upon gazing up at the night sky, might have noticed the stars briefly winking in and out as the stealth aircraft eclipsed them, racing through the sea of stars as a speedboat hurtling across Gotham Harbor. However, most stargazers probably blamed the distortion on a trick of the light and soon forgot about it.

The lonely wail of sirens, the banshee cry of the harbingers of justice, could just be heard rapidly approaching from the far distance, echoing off the concrete canyons of the teeming city.

While the city below huddled behind locked doors at the sound of trouble, Batman flew the Batwing into the heavy layer of fog that had settled over the Tri-Corner area. Flying solely by instruments, he reached the GPS coordinates directly above the corner of Water Street and Shoreline Drive. Bringing the stealth aircraft to silent hover at 1,000 feet, Batman opened the cockpit.

"Deploying now," Batman reported. He activated the autopilot and instructed the Batwing to find a suitable rooftop on which to land and standby, placing it on a 30-second time delay.

Undoing his shoulder harness, the Dark Knight climbed out onto the wing. He took one last look around and spread out his cape, locking it in glider mode, and leapt into the darkness.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./2300 EDT]**

Dick easily made his way onto the roof of Oxey's Lounge. From a running start, Dick had executed a double twisting double layout-quad twist combination, which ended in a flying leap that easily propelled him onto the building's fire escape. Pulling himself up and over, he climbed the stairs up to the roof. Once there, he crossed over to the far side of the building and looked down. Studying the sign and the brackets that held it to the building, his expert eyes saw that the rusted brackets were being anchored to the building's side by a prayer and a promise.

Most of the bolts had either come loose or had sheered completely off. To be honest, he couldn't see how the sign hadn't fallen off years ago. However, there were at least two places where the bolts seemed to be firmly held in place—the bracket mounts that braced the sign to the roof. He had planned to climb down the sign to the one of the darkened windows on the floor below, but decided that might not be the best idea.

Spotting the roof access door, he went over and tried it. _Locked. Of course_. Studying the lock, he thought back to the breaking and entering lessons that he'd learned from Bruce…

"After all, one never knows," Bruce had joked. "If Zatara was right and you needed to learn escapology from him—"

"_That's_ not a word," Dick protested skeptically. At his guardian's look, Dick sighed. He'd have to look up the word in the dictionary during that evening's study period and use it correctly in a sentence.

"—To break _out_ of restraints, then reason would show that you should also learn the art of breaking _into_ a place."

"Is it legal?" Dick asked.

"Only if you use your power for good." The low register in Bruce's voice was the only warning Dick got before his guardian pounced and started tickling…

Dick smiled warmly remembering the often laugh-filled daily lessons that he received from his guardian. He felt a hitch in his throat. Bruce might not have trusted him with his greatest secret, but he had given him so much more in the short period of time he'd been with him.

So what if Bruce had missed his soccer matches sometimes? It was only a stupid game anyway. Batman had probably been off saving Gotham City from the Joker or some kind of monster. Maybe he'd been with his Super Friends, saving the world. All things being equal, that was way more important than cheering him on at a soccer game.

And hadn't Bruce made an effort almost everyday after work—unless something important came up—to spend time with him? They'd read books together, played chess, gone hiking, dirt biking, and rock climbing. They'd done lots of cool guy stuff together!

Bruce even taught him how to pick locks; how to observe carefully in order to tell if someone had been in his room by determining what, if anything, had been moved or taken.

_He also taught me those cool Jedi Master mind tricks. Well…Bruce called them meditation exercises to help me improve my focus, but Jedi mind tricks sounds wa-a-ay cooler._

In addition to all that, Bruce had spent every morning during the past few weeks teaching him jiu jitsu, kung fu, aikido, and other forms of martial arts. Dick had especially enjoyed learning to fight with the _bo_ staff and escrima sticks. Since he was a relatively small boy, the weapons had added power to his hits. He'd even managed to best Bruce once or twice—well, maybe came _close_ once or twice to besting him—at hand to hand.

And he'd been able to teach Bruce a thing or two about acrobatics. Bruce admitted that he'd never be as flexible as Dick, but he didn't give up in trying to learn new, difficult routines. Remembering Bruce taking down the alien starfish's zombies using the spin-split kick combination that Dick had taught him, Dick could only feel a swelling of pride in chest.

_Bruce wouldn't spend time with me just 'cause I'm a charity case. He did it 'cause he wanted to share everything Batman knew with someone. _Dick stopped at this sudden revelation. _That's almost exactly what dad said to me a couple years ago_.

John Grayson had told Dick that one of the reasons he had wanted a son was to pass on everything he knew about acrobatics and flying on the trapeze. Just like his father before him, he wanted to pass on the Flying Graysons' legacy to his son.

Did that mean that Bruce had wanted to pass the Batman's legacy onto him? No, Dick couldn't begin to guess why Bruce took him in. He clearly didn't need a partner, and he didn't seem to want a son. So, the question remained…why?

As he finally heard the tumblers unlock, Dick shrugged. _I don't think even Bruce knows why._

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./2315 EDT]**

Seeing the fast-approaching rooftop, Batman prepared for a landing. He touched down a bit rougher than normal, but managed to stay upright. He continued his forward momentum by running for several feet until he could at last come to a gradual stop. Simultaneously, he pulled down on the glider wings, collapsing the cape and returning it to its normal shape.

Reaching the roof's edge, he fired his grappler and took off into the night. He'd landed almost three blocks from his target building. On the descent from 1,000 feet, he'd suddenly found himself in the unauthorized flight path of a civilian helicopter. He'd just managed to dodge and weave in time to avoid a midair collision. Unfortunately, his glider wing was partially ripped as a result. At that point, all he could do was steer the glider in a controlled fall.

At any other time, he would have chastised himself for landing on a rooftop almost a half-mile out from Oxey's, but he'd have plenty of time for recriminations later. Right now he had to get to Dick. As he jumped from rooftop to lamppost to water tank and back to another rooftop, he could hear the sirens in the near distance. The GCPD was minutes away.

And suddenly, Oxey's Lounge was right before him, its garish neon sign announcing its decrepit location.

Batman quickly set his mask night vision to zoom. The second floor corner office had a light on, a dim illumination in an otherwise murky street corner. He could make out several shadowy figures from behind the pulled down shades moving within. It looked like a struggle.

A smaller shadow caught his attention. The next instant the tiny shadowy figure moved in a backward somersault and away from view.

_Dick!_

Immediately, the Dark Knight was in the air, closing the distance between himself and his son.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./2315 EDT]**

Dick crept down the dark stairs leading from the roof. The unbroken gloom felt suffocating. He stepped carefully, toe-heel-toe, keeping his back to the wall and feeling before him with his outstretched hand. Abruptly, the stairwell opened up. The wall on his left was gone. He could feel the open space before him. The claustrophobic blackness that had enshrouded the staircase earlier was now lifted.

Dick could make out vague shapes in the darkness. A faint illumination from Oxey's neon sign directly outside the window had filtered through the drawn shade at the bottom of the landing. He saw a closed door indicating it led out to the second floor. Making his way to it, he carefully tried the knob. His heart skipping a beat, he breathed a sigh of relief when it opened without a sound.

Waiting a second to let his eyes adjust to the change in lighting, Dick spotted a thin crack of light under a closed door. He felt his way down the narrow hallway, until he reached the door in question. The closer he got, the more he could make out muffled voices.

Outside the door, he heard the familiar voice from that day at the circus.

"I want him six feet under! He's the only one who can finger me…no circus brat's gonna bring down Tony Zucco, got it?"

"It ain't gonna be easy, Tony. He's living in that big mansion now…with that big shot billionaire, Bruce Wayne."

"Well, he's not gonna be inside all day every day. He's gotta come out sometime, and when he does…you make sure he has an accident!"

"Tony, be reasonable. If he was still with the circus and had an accident, well…so what? Accidents happen in the circus. Y'know, a real tragedy, but no one really cares. But now? Wayne's made the kid legally his. You think you've got heat now? Something happens to Bruce Wayne's kid, then you've got heat like nobody's business."

"Eddie…my own uncle's put a hit out on me because of this kid. He has an accident, Eddie, _capisce_?"

"Yeah, Tony…I _capisce_."

"Good…once the kid's outta the way, we go back to Haly's Circus and put the squeeze on the old guy—"

"The circus, Tony?" Another voice broke in. Female. "Are you planning on going into show business?"

There was a brief pause.

"Were you _always_ this dumb, or have you been getting into the stuff again?" The sharp sound of a slap could be heard all the way through the closed door. Dick closed his fist in unexpected fury.

"No, no, Tony!" The female voice cried out, frightened. "I'm clean—I swear!"

"You better be, you stupid broad!" His voice dropped dangerously. "Because I can't stand no junkies."

"I'm not, Tony, I swear—!" Another slap. "Please…Tony, no—!"

Dick couldn't take listening to the sounds of a woman being hurt any longer. Opening the door, he ran in. Spying the big-stomached man he'd seen arguing with Pop Haly the day his parents had been killed, he sped toward him. Executing three handsprings and a round-off in quick succession, he flew over the coffee table and slammed straight into his target, hitting him in the soft gut.

"_Oof_…!" The fat man grunted in pained surprise.

"Tony!" the other man—Eddie—called out. "Tony move out of the way, so's I can get a clear shot!"

Before he could, however, the small dynamo sprang backward, somersaulting high above his head, and landed behind him. Dick kicked out, striking him directly behind the knees. As Eddie went down, Dick grabbed a broom, twirled it by the handle, and knocked the gun from Eddie's hand. Jumping straight up, he twisted his torso and swinging the broom handle, struck Eddie across the temple. He hit with so much power that he broke the broom handle in the process.

Eddie went down as if he'd been shot.

"Don't _move_, kid! I've got you covered."

Dick froze. Zucco was holding a gun on him from the other side of the coffee table. Seeing the sneer on the fat man's face snapped something inside Dick. Ignoring the danger, he kicked the table, upending it and slamming it straight into the fat man. The gun went off suddenly, and acting on pure instinct, Dick dodged the bullet with a breathtaking sideways leap and backward somersault.

By the time Dick regained his feet, Zucco had somehow managed to slip by him and out the door. _No! He can't get away. I won't let him!_

In the background, he heard the woman screaming, "Tony…your heart! Remember what the doc said about your heart! Tony!"

Dick picked up the two broken pieces of the broom handle. He quickly broke off the brush end from one and took off after Zucco. As he ran up the same staircase leading to the roof that he'd come down earlier, he tested the sticks' balance by twirling them in his hands. They felt off, but he'd manage…

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./2330 EDT]**

As Eddie slowly came to, he could make out the sounds of running feet, and somewhere in the distance a woman screaming.

Damn…couldn't the stupid broad just shut up? His head was pounding. Bringing his hand up to his head, he winced. What happened? Who hit him? As more awareness crept in, he remembered.

_The kid and Tony! Man…what a mess. It's time to get the hell out of Gotham. The heat around here has gotten too high. Plus…I don't need no kid's murder rap on my record._

Eddie knew the score. If you hurt kids on the outside, there was a special hell waiting for you inside Blackgate. Even the most hardened inmates in the infamous federal prison didn't have any use for a child killer. They had a habit of ending up with a shiv in their back. No, it was time to go.

The window suddenly exploded inwardly in a shower of glass and shards of wood. Accompanying these was a frightening, black figure comprised of solid muscle and a very angry Bat-attitude. The Batman grabbed Eddie by the collar and hauled him up until his feet were no longer touching the floor. Eddie struggled uselessly against the chokehold, flopping like a fish out of water.

"Where's the boy?" The deep, raspy voice was filled with rage. Eddie knew he had only seconds before the Batman brought that barely controlled wrath down on him.

"I-I don't know…! He was just here. The little punk knocked me out…I-I just came to…I swear!"

Those were his last words before an iron fist sent him back into oblivion.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./2335 EDT]**

Batman quickly zip-tied Eddie's wrists behind his back, and then left the mob hit man on the floor. He ran past a disheveled, painfully thin woman who was huddled at the foot of the roof stairs sobbing quietly.

She looked up him, black mascara marring her pale face. She had all the telltale signs of a junkie. She couldn't have been more than 20, but looked much older. She didn't appear dangerous, but Batman handcuffed her anyway.

"Wait for the police to arrive." His voice was a low, threatening growl that clearly frightened her.

"Please…Mr. Batman," she whispered fearfully. "His heart…you've gotta help him. The doc said that—"

A gunshot came from the direction of the roof. Batman ran off immediately taking the stairs three at a time.

"Please! The doc says Tony could have a heart attack if he gets excited!"

But Batman didn't hear the rest as he burst through the door onto the roof.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**End of Part 10**

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**Acknowledgements**: Some ideas and dialogue borrowed from _Batman: Dark Victory_ #8; _All Star Batman and Robin, the Boy Wonder _#9; _Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight_ #100; Gotham City map/points of interest from _Batman: Gotham City Secret Files and Origins_ #1; _The Brave and the Bold_ #28; _BTAS: Robin's Reckoning_ S2E2; _The Sandman_ #1.

**Additional Notes: **A special thanks to my betas—Beth and Ellen. Once again, I'd like to say thanks to everyone who's taken the time to review the story—especially the repeat reviewers. (You know who you are!) Your words of encouragement have been very much appreciated. Finally, thanks for sticking with the story.

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to DC, Time Warner, and CN; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

**Copyright: October 2012**


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary**: Dick takes down Zucco.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sat., 4 Jul./2340 EDT]**

Dick caught up to Zucco by slamming both feet into his back. As the mobster went down, the boy went for Zucco's gun hand with one of his makeshift escrima sticks. Before he could hit Zucco to disarm him, the gun went off. Dick managed to dive out of the way just in time. He actually felt the heat of the bullet as it narrowly missed his head.

Jumping up, he did a double layout with a triple twist, kicking out at Zucco, knocking the weapon from his hand and sending it flying over the roof's edge. Pressing his advantage, Dick leapfrogged over his parents' killer and boxed his ears with the sticks as he passed over him. The force of the double blows brought Zucco to his knees.

Gasping for air, the mobster wheezed, "You…punk…I'll kill you for this…just like…your folks." He stopped, barely able to squeeze air into his lungs. "Y-you hear me…? I'll k-kill…" His angry expression changed to one of confusion and then worry and then fear, as he clutched at his chest. "M-muh…My heart…the doc said no excitement. Please, kid… Get help…"

"I don't believe you! You're just faking it. You're nothing but a liar…and a murderer! You're going to jail!"

Zucco collapsed on his hands and knees. "I swear, kid…need ambu…lance…"

At that moment the roof door exploded outwardly in a volley of wood splinters and pieces of broken metal and glass—followed by an enraged Batman, who looked ready to singlehandedly take out an army. Spying Dick standing over the wheezing mobster, he practically flew over to him. Simultaneously, Dick turned with a cry of relief and launched himself bodily at the Dark Knight.

"Bruce!" he cried out, unthinking.

Wincing at the use of his real name, Batman grabbed Dick by both shoulders and quickly ran his hands over him, checking to make sure he was all right. Relieved, Bruce—not Batman—felt himself go weak at the knees. He dropped down and pulled his son to him, practically crushing him to his chest, enveloping him in the protective folds of his cape.

"Thank God you're safe," he murmured.

Happy that his guardian had found him, Dick latched tightly onto him. His earlier hurt feelings of betrayal and unhappiness were momentarily forgotten.

"Bruce…Wayne?" Zucco wheezed feebly, his face contorting into a painful grimace. He remembered Eddie cautioning against icing Bruce Wayne's kid—Dick Grayson. "Looks like…I just…hit the…jackpot…" Zucco's weak attempt at extortion brought Batman back to reality.

Running his hand through Dick's hair, Bruce pressed his forehead against his boy's. Taking a moment to compose himself, he gave Dick a short reassuring nod before rising to his full imposing height. The next moment, the Dark Knight whipped around, his cape billowing dramatically behind him, and walked deliberately, menacingly over to Zucco, who was struggling for every breath. "You're in no condition to make threats, Zucco."

"That's where…you're wrong, Batman…Or, should I say…Bruce Wayne?" Zucco gasped out, a triumphant grin warring with a pained grimace. "Gonna cost you…_big_!" Zucco's eyes bulged suddenly, his face turning a sickening puce. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, as Zucco struggled for air, still fighting to get the words out. "Please…help me…"

Batman bent over Zucco, quickly and methodically checking the mobster's vitals, loosening his collar and belt buckle to help him breathe. Activating the cowl-comm, he contacted Captain Gordon. "Building's clear. It's safe to proceed and collect a couple of packages inside. Send for an ambulance. Tony Zucco—possible heart attack on the roof."

By now the street corner in front of Oxey's Lounge was being blocked off by police cruisers. The strobe-like effect of the red and blue emergency lights added a surreal atmosphere to the night.

Dick walked up to his parents' killer and asked him the question that had been haunting him every day and night since their murder. "Why? Why _my_ mom and dad? What did they ever do to you?"

Zucco shook his head and wheezed, making a sound like a chuckle. "Nothing personal, kid... Just business…" As he spoke, Zucco's eyes took on a faraway, almost wistful look. He smiled. "Bruce Wayne is…Batman. I'll be…on Easy…Street…" He went still. His eyes stared unseeing into the distance, somewhere beyond normal human awareness.

Batman checked for a pulse. Standing, he looked down at Dick, who was still staring at Zucco, and spoke quietly. "He's gone."

Dick went still, his eyes held by the man who had brought him so much grief and taken so much from him. He'd thought he would feel happy or relieved—anything. Instead, he just felt empty. _Why is everything so blurry? Is it raining again? And cold…I'm so cold._ He began to shiver, his body trembling.

Dick didn't know when, but at some point, he felt something heavy and warm drape around him. A large, comforting hand rested momentarily on his shoulder. He felt himself leaning instinctively into its familiar warmth. The next thing he knew, he was being lifted bodily, enveloped protectively within Batman's cape.

A massive shadow in the shape of a bat suddenly loomed directly above them—the Batwing! Dick gasped as they unexpectedly shot straight up toward the waiting aircraft. Batman held him gently but securely against his chest with one arm, while his other hand held the fast-retracting Batline. Instinctively, Dick hid his face against Batman's neck as he tightened his arms around him.

"Don't worry, buddy, I've got you." Batman spoke in a low, reassuring rasp. "I promise, Dick, I'll never let you fall."

At the Dark Knight's words, Dick felt the cold hand of fear that had been clenched deep inside him begin to slowly loosen. In its place a sudden flood of warmth chased away the chill and loneliness of the past few months. Feeling truly safe for the first time since his parents' deaths, Dick slowly relaxed his death grip from around Batman's neck, trusting his guardian to be his lifeline.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sun., 5 Jul./0130 EDT]**

Batman brought the Batwing to a soft landing on its designated spot in the Cave. He looked across at the sleeping boy strapped securely into the co-pilot's seat. His hard jawline relaxed into a half-smile. Dick's initial excitement at being inside the Batwing had given way to his nodding off from exhaustion. As Batman flew them home, he thought about what he had witnessed.

Although he'd only seen some of Dick's struggles against the two, armed mobsters in silhouette, he'd observed enough of the aftermath to know that his little boy had bested both grown men in hand-to-hand combat. Captain Gordon reported finding forensic evidence of multiple gunshots in the room where Batman had found Eddie Skeevers.

Eddie himself admitted that Zucco had planned on killing the boy and had taken a couple potshots at him. The girl, coming down from a heroin-induced high, was less help. She kept asking for Zucco, promising to stay out of his stuff in the basement. Intrigued by her curious comments, the GCPD investigated the basement and discovered the missing heroin shipment. Eddie and the girl were taken into custody on suspicion of accessory to the double homicide of the Graysons, multiple counts of extortion, and possession of an illegal substance with intent to sell. There would probably be more charges, but these were enough for a start.

Batman opened the cockpit and unstrapped Dick. Picking him up gently, he climbed down. Alfred met him halfway across the Cave and took Dick from him.

"Sir, you're exhausted. A hot shower and change of clothes for you, young man. I shall take care of the young master."

Nodding, Bruce didn't argue. Removing his cowl, he watched as Alfred climbed the stairs leading up to the manor. A moment later, he headed toward the showers.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Sun., 5 Jul./0200 EDT]**

Hair still damp from his shower, Bruce walked quietly into the nursery. The muted illumination from the hidden nightlight softened the gloom and shadows in the room. It was enough to reassure the young occupant, should he wake suddenly from a nightmare. Dr. Sandford had explained that as soon as Dick was ready to let go of his survivor's guilt, then hopefully, the nightmares would begin to ease.

The room's dim lighting cast a halo around Dick's dark hair, giving him an angelic appearance. He was holding Elinor close to him, her trunk curled protectively around his neck. Bruce's features softened at the sight. The next moment, a shadow flitted across his face as he considered how close he'd come to losing Dick. He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat.

_I realized tonight how much you've come to mean to me. You're my son in every way that counts_. Bruce sat down gently on the edge of the bed, not wanting to wake Dick. _If you'll have me as a father, I promise to always protect you, be your mentor…and, yes, love you as a father loves his son. _

Dick stirred and opened his eyes sleepily. Seeing Bruce sitting on the bed next to him, he blinked. Pointing at Bruce's head, he said, "Your hair's wet."

Bruce reached up and touched his hair, giving Dick a quizzical look.

"When you've been here before at 2:00 a.m.—after I had a nightmare…your hair's been wet. I couldn't figure out why." He reached for Bruce's hand. "I'm sorry he died. I know I said I wanted him to, but I really didn't."

Bruce gave Dick's small hand a gentle squeeze. "I know that, buddy."

Soft tears began to trickle out of the boy's stricken blue eyes. "I said I hated them, Bruce—" His voice hitched. "Mom and Dad—"

Bruce gathered him in his arms, recalling the fateful day in the playroom when Dick's rage—not only at Zucco, but also at his parents for leaving him—had erupted. "Shhhh…I know you didn't mean it, son. Your mom and dad went to heaven knowing just how much you loved them." He fought back the tears that threatened. "And I promise you that their last thoughts were of you and how much they loved you."

"H-how do you know?"

"Because if anything ever happens to me, I know that my last thoughts will be of you…and how much I love you."

"Y-you…love me?"

"Yeah, buddy, I sure do." He helped Dick lie back down and nervously straightened the pillows and blankets, all the while very much aware of the boy's intent gaze. Finally, gathering his courage, Bruce met the boy's stare. "I know it's too soon for you, Dick. And I know I could never replace your father, but if you're willing, I'd like very much to adopt you legally. I promise I'll do my best to always take care of you and—"

"Okay."

"What? Dick, are you sure?"

Dick nodded solemnly. "Uh-huh. I love you, too, Bruce…and Alfred." He looked suddenly guilty. "Is that wrong? Mom and Dad…Do you think they'll be mad?"

Bruce shook his head. "No, Dick, if there's one thing I'm certain of, it's that your parents love you and want you to be happy."

"How about _your_ Mom and Dad, Bruce?" Dick's earnest eyes pierced into Bruce's soul. "Do they want _you_ to be happy?"

Bruce looked away, unable to meet those knowing eyes. At long last, he nodded. "Yes…they do." He turned back, shrugging slightly. "But sometimes…it's hard to remember that."

Dick looked down at their still clasped hands. "I know. Bruce, I'm sorry I ran away and threw the Batman t-shirt in the trash. I was mad, I guess."

"I know, Dick. But I probably deserved it for not trusting you with the family secret earlier. That was wrong of me."

"So, no more secrets?" Dick asked.

Bruce studied the boy for a long beat. "I can't make that promise, Dick. Sometimes Batman has to do—things—in the course of an investigation that requires secrecy. But I will promise you this: I will keep you in the loop as much as possible. Will that do?"

Dick nodded, satisfied for the moment. However, a new idea was forming in the back of his mind. An idea that he knew was too early to mention out loud to his guardian…no, to his new father. But he was satisfied with waiting, for now…

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Mon., 21 Dec./0200 EST]**

Freshly showered, Bruce placed yet another wrapped gift under the tree. Smiling, he headed upstairs to check on his (hopefully) sleeping son. The adoption papers had been finalized only the previous week, and just in time, too. The boy's emotions were all over the map as the first Christmas without his parents approached. One moment he was giddy over the prospect of opening the growing pile of wrapped gifts under the tree that bore his name. The next, he was holed up somewhere on the manor grounds, grieving.

Bruce had found him up in the eaves, in the giant oak, in Tornado's stall, and in his mother's private patio garden. One night after a charity ball he'd hosted, Bruce found Dick curled up asleep under the grand piano, Elinor clutched to his chest. Dr. Sandford insisted that it was a natural part of the grieving process and that Dick was already well on his way to healing. Knowing that Bruce loved him, wanted to adopt him, and was giving him a permanent home was the strongest emotional medicine the boy could have been given.

Of course, Bruce's overdoing the number of Christmas gifts was a classic case of overcompensation for his own insecurities as a new father. While it was probably not very helpful for the boy's emotional rollercoaster, it did lend to the humor of the situation.

_Okay_…Bruce admitted privately. _I went overboard with the presents, but this is my first Christmas with my new son_. And no, he didn't buy 20 of everything this time. He smiled as he remembered his first sojourn into the evil that was shopping for children's clothes. _Never again—that's what I pay Alfred for. If I ever have to do that again, he is so fired! _

Reaching the nursery, he quietly opened the door. As always, the nightlight haloed Dick's dark head. _Sleeping like an angel_, he thought.

"Bruce…?"

Then again... He stepped in quietly. Sitting on the side of the bed, he straightened the blankets around Dick, an action he found strangely comforting.

"You should be sleeping," he said softly.

"Can't. Christmas—"

"—Is still a few days away," Bruce chastised gently.

"I was dreaming," Dick admitted softly. "About Mom and Dad…" He blinked sleepily up at Bruce.

"Want to talk about it?" Bruce asked quietly. At Dick's shrug, Bruce added, "Sometimes it helps."

"Dad said I was trying to replace him—again. He and Mom were real mad." Dick looked guilty. "I told him I didn't believe him…that my _real_ dad would be happy for me 'cause he loved me."

"What happened?" Bruce asked, aware of Dr. Sandford's ongoing discussions with Dick regarding his lingering nightmares.

Dick shrugged. "I woke up and _you_ were here." His expression became anguished. "Why won't they be happy for me, Bruce?"

Running his hand through Dick's hair, he leaned in and touched his forehead to his son's. "Your parents _are_ happy for you, Dick. You have to believe that. Remember what Dr. Sandford said…These aren't your real parents."

"But—?"

"No, buts! Now, what did Dr. Sandford say to do when you've had one of these nightmares?"

"To think about something my mom and dad said or did that showed how much they loved me?" He made it a question.

"That's right. So, why don't you try it?"

Dick nodded, his solemn features becoming thoughtful. "Mom made me chocolate pancakes on my birthday, for breakfast. She knew they were my favorite, so she'd make 'em on special days." Dick looked up at Bruce who nodded in approval. "And Dad told me that day how proud he was of me, 'cause I was carrying on the Flying Graysons' legacy."

Bruce nodded, his eyes smiling. "You see? No matter how much the nightmare versions may tell you they're mad at you, your real parents never did anything but show you how much they loved you and were proud of you. Those are the memories you need to take with you when you go to sleep. D'you think you can do that?"

At Dick's nod, Bruce gave him an affectionate half-smile. "Good…Now, we have a busy day tomorrow, buddy. I promise I'll stay with you until you fall asleep. Okay?"

"'Kay…" Dick said sleepily before dropping off.

The next day—and those that followed—were busy ones for the Waynes of Gotham. Bruce and his adopted son Richard made appearances at several social functions. Bruce proudly introduced Dick to Gotham society and vice versa. He was amused that Dick was wholly unimpressed by Gotham City's glitterati; however, his son held up well in the fishbowl that was Bruce Wayne's public life.

Being a born showman, Dick often stole his new father's spotlight. He knew exactly how others would respond to his bright engaging smile and his impeccable manners. As Bruce hurried him up the red carpet of yet another event, Dick ducked out from under his strong arm and waved at the crowd of reporters and photographers that were lined along the roped off area. When Bruce narrowed his eyes at Dick's antics, Dick merely batted his own wide blue eyes back at him.

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**[Fri., 25 Dec./0630 EST]**

At long last, Christmas Day arrived. That morning at sunrise, Bruce and Dick visited the cemetery. As the bright December sun rose in a clear blue sky, the previous night's icy precipitation was but a distant memory. A crisp, cold breeze rustled the stark, leafless trees that lined the path leading to their parents' gravesite.

Walking solemnly up the all-too familiar path, Bruce paused when he reached the well-kept grave. Leaning down, he laid a single red rose at his parents' graves and introduced Dick to them.

"…your new grandson, Richard John Grayson-Wayne."

Meanwhile, Dick laid two calla lilies on his own parents' gravesite. Bruce had arranged for Dick's parents to be laid next to his own. Thus, the new father and son stood together before the four people that had meant the most to them in life, and who had been torn from them so brutally.

"…and Pop Haly says to tell you hello. Oh, I almost forgot… Remember Toby the Sad Clown? He's working at Wayne Corp now. He's really smart and an engineer and guess what? He's still teaching me math, and he has lots of assistants who help out, too. But the most important thing is that Bruce adopted me, and he's my new dad now." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "And he's also Batman, only that's a big a secret and I'm not supposed to ever tell anyone, but Bruce said I could tell you. See…when he was just a kid like me, the same thing happened to him and his parents, so he became Batman to make sure that nothing like that ever happens to anyone else."

Dick grinned proudly. "And I've been helping him, too. I've shown him how to do some of the cool stuff that _we_ used do. I'd like to be his partner one day, but Bruce says that I'm still too young, and that I have a long way to go before I can ever do that."

He bowed his head, turning pensive. "I love you, Mom and Dad, and I'll never forget you. But I'm ready to be happy again, and I know you'll understand, 'cause you love me as much as I love you."

Dick took a deep breath and stopped rambling. "Well…I guess that's all for now. I'll come back and visit again soon. Good-bye." Waving sadly at his parents' graves, he turned away and followed Bruce back to the waiting car. The drive home was quiet but comfortable.

"Did you mean what you said, buddy? Are you ready to be happy?"

Dick nodded solemnly. "Uh-huh." Looking up at Bruce, he asked tentatively. "Bruce…are _you_? Ready to be happy, I mean."

Bruce glanced down at his son and smiled slightly. He reached across the seats, laid his hand on Dick's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Yes, I am…But it's going to take me a while longer, I'm afraid. I've lived with this…" He stopped, unable to find the right words, and gestured helplessly. "…for so long, that I'd forgotten what it was like to be happy." He ruffled Dick's hair. "But I'm learning, and I've got you and Alfred to thank for that."

Dick smiled and settled back in his seat for the rest of the ride home. When they arrived at the manor, Alfred was waiting for them. He took their coats, scarves, and gloves, and shooed them into the family room.

"I'll have hot coffee and hot chocolate for you in a moment. When I enter, I had better be fighting my way through a mountain of torn wrapping paper, or you'll both have me to answer to!"

"He _wants_ us to make a mess?" Dick asked, confused.

"You think he's a clone?" Bruce teased.

"I don't know…but I think we need to keep _this_ Alfred!"

"I heard that," Alfred announced, as he walked in holding a tray with the hot drinks. Looking around pointedly at the decided lack of torn wrapping paper and ribbons, his two charges dove into unwrapping with gusto. Alfred sat back, feeling thoroughly satisfied at the heap of paper growing steadily around him.

"There! That's the last one!" Dick announced happily. On impulse, he reached over and hugged first Bruce and then Alfred. "Thank you…those were some of the best presents I've ever had in my whole life!"

"You're most welcome, Master Richard. Although, I could have sworn that Father Christmas had at least one more gift for you that he dropped off at the last minute." He turned an inquiring glance at Bruce.

"Well, I don't know about good ol' Saint Nick…but someone sure did drop off something at the last minute. Oh, and look. It just happens to have your name on it, Dick!"

"Oh, but Bruce, Alfred…You shouldn't have. I mean, you've already given me more than—"

"Go on, buddy…Open it." Bruce held the beautifully wrapped package out to him.

Smiling, Dick took the present and slowly unwrapped it. Unlike the other gifts, he knew instinctively that this one was special. As his small hands worked the tape and ribbons loose, he felt his excitement growing. Could it be?

His hands shaking, Dick at last opened the box. Inside, hidden among mounds of tissue paper, were a batarang and a black domino mask. He looked up excitedly at Bruce. "You mean it, Bruce? You really mean it?"

Bruce stood up and helped his son to his feet. "You've earned it, Dick. Come the New Year, we'll start training you in earnest to become my partner. So, you've been pestering me for the past six months to take you on…Have you given any thought to your codename?"

"Robin," Dick said without hesitation. He smiled up happily at his dad.

Bruce nodded in acknowledgement. "In that case, Dick, sometime in the next year—when _I_ say you're ready and _not_ before—Robin the Boy the Wonder will take flight once more."

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**End of Part 11**

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**Acknowledgements**: Some ideas and dialogue borrowed from _Batman: Dark Victory_ #8; _All Star Batman and Robin, the Boy Wonder _#9; _Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight_ #100; Gotham City map/points of interest from _Batman: Gotham City Secret Files and Origins_ #1; _The Brave and the Bold_ #28; _BTAS: Robin's Reckoning_ S2E2; _The Sandman_ #1.

**Additional Notes: **A special thanks to my beta Ellen. Her eagle eye for villainous grammar goofs makes Batman's detective skills pale in comparison. Finally, thanks to everyone who's stayed with the story up to this point. Next part: the Epilogue!

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to DC, Time Warner, and CN; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

**Copyright: October 2012**


	12. Chapter 12: Epilogue

**Summary**: Enter: Robin the Boy Wonder!

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**Epilogue**

**[Sat., Mar. 21/2330 EDT]**

From a safe distance, Garfield Lynns looked out at his night's handiwork with glowing pride. He watched excitedly as the flames consumed the abandoned buildings overlooking Gotham Harbor in the old Tri-Corner neighborhood. They burned so intensely they could be seen for miles around. Two of the buildings had been sheet-metal factories with very little flammable material left behind. However, the two remaining buildings had been warehouses, which had been abandoned with much of their inventory still in them.

"I like to think of it as urban renewal," Lynns said amused. "Hell…the city outta _pay_ me for this!" He smiled in satisfaction as he watched the old mattress warehouse burn. "People really should pay more attention to those government warning labels and not remove them!"

He laughed, referring to the ubiquitous labels found on all mattresses. There was a reason the government required them: The polyurethane foam (sometimes called _solid gasolin_e), which comprised a mattress, was a highly flammable, highly dangerous component. Lynns felt a thrill at the thought of all those Gothamites, sleeping peacefully on their queen-sized mattresses, never suspecting their danger.

The other building had been a toy warehouse. Most of the inventory had been removed years ago, except for a line of dolls that had been discontinued long before the warehouse was abandoned. Ironically, the line had been discontinued because the celluloid that was used in the dolls' manufacture was (happily for Lynns) highly flammable.

The fire had spread to five additional abandoned buildings before the Gotham City Fire Department had even responded. Currently there were more than one hundred firemen with dozens of fire trucks and support equipment valiantly fighting to keep the flames from spreading any further. Additional fire companies and even the GCFD's old fireboat, the _Jerry Robinson_, had been called in and were enroute.

The GCPD had cordoned off the surrounding city blocks and were working feverishly to keep curious onlookers away. They were also going building to building, knocking on doors to evacuate residents to safety.

Lynns had been lying low away from Gotham and had only just gotten back to his hometown two nights ago. While away, he'd planned to make a spectacular return, something that made a statement. Apparently, he'd succeeded.

Several months back, Lynn's pal Drury Walker had gotten word to him that Tony Zucco had finally croaked—supposedly from a heart attack. However, Lynns figured that "Fats" Zucco had probably come across the Bat and simply died of fright. It didn't matter. What was important was with Zucco out of the picture, Garfield Lynns—the Firefly—could move into the insurance business.

"Yeah, the fire insurance business," he said aloud. "For a very low weekly premium—to be determined by yours truly—your business can be protected from going up in smoke! And if you can't or won't pay, well…even better!" He laughed. In truth, he'd prefer it if they refused to pay just so he could set the place on fire.

As Lynns watched the growing conflagration, he felt his chest puff out in pride. He'd developed the accelerant that he'd used. It was a new mixture—something he'd concocted in the kitchen of the abandoned farmhouse he'd used as a hideout. His pal and sometime sidekick, Drury Walker, had found the place and stocked it with supplies for him.

Walker, AKA Killer Moth, was probably Gotham's most disrespected villain. However, he had his uses—namely, he'd set himself up as the go-to guy to help underworld figures elude capture. Unfortunately, more often than not his plans tended to go awry. Or, as in Lynns' case, the hideout was worse than the prison cell he was trying to escape.

Lynns, a die-hard city boy, had hated the farmhouse—too remote, too little to do. And, the country had way too much fresh air and clear, starry nights. Give him good ol' Gotham City's polluted air and murky nighttime skies any time.

While in hiding, Lynns had spent his days and nights planning on his comeback and working on his new accelerant. The beauty of the compound was that it had an auto-ignition temperature. In other words, it needed no external ignition to set it off, just reach room temperature, and it would spontaneously combust.

Lynns had kept the compound in a special refrigerated unit until the last minute. Once he'd set all of the firetraps in their optimal places, he had automatically collapsed the outer, cooling container and just stood back and watched the fun.

_No more hiding out_, he vowed silently. Raising his arms into the sky, he cried out, "Firefly is _back_!"

At that moment a giant, bat-shaped shadow swooped in from the sky. It banked toward the massive conflagration that was literally lighting up the night and then began a series of passes over the burning buildings.

As Lynns watched horrified, the Batwing began to methodically dump foam retardant on the fires. The Bat was ruining his homecoming—destroying the masterpiece he'd spent months planning.

He waved his fist futilely at the high-performance aircraft as each pass resulted in the flames dying a bit more. If he'd had his Firefly exo-suit, he would've flown and chased down the pompous Bat. But the exo-suit wasn't ready yet. Tonight was supposed to be about making a statement, not an appearance. His debut was days away. Walker was still trying to round up all the components he needed to put the finishing touches to the exo-suit.

"No! You're ruining everything!" he shouted.

"That's the whole point, moron!"

"What?" Lynns whipped around. The voice had come from behind him, but there was no one there. "Who said that? Where are you? _Oof_—!"

He fell back as something black flew out of nowhere and slammed into him. Lying on his back, he groaned in pain. _Aw, man…I should've stayed in the country_. Sitting up slowly, he looked around him. A small black shadow, silhouetted by the burning buildings in the background, was crouched a few feet away from him.

Lynns felt for his carryall. It had fallen a couple feet from him. _If I can get to it…!_ Without warning, he dove for the shoulder bag, but before he could reach in for the remaining firetraps, a hard and sharp black _thing _struck him on the wrist.

"Oww!" he cried. "Son of a b—!"

"Uh-uh-uh!" a very young voice interrupted. "You'd better not say it. You-know-who won't like it!"

"Wha—?" Lynns stood hunched over in pain, holding onto his injured wrist. He looked around the rooftop. Empty. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Why don't you come out, so's I can see you?"

"Okay." Lynns watched as a flash of red, black, and yellow seemingly flew overhead. The shadowy figure landed about 10 feet in front of him; however, this time the flames from the burning buildings clearly illuminated the mysterious figure. Lynns eyes widened at the sight of a small, masked boy (or midget!) wearing a dark red, short-sleeved tunic with an _**R**_ inside a circle over his left breast, heavy-looking gauntlets, and black tights. A black cape with a subdued yellow lining completed the picture. "You have got to be _kidding_ me! A _kid_?"

The masked boy crossed his arms in front and glared at Lynns.

"And just what are you supposed to be?" Lynns scoffed.

"I'm Robin, and _you're_ going down!" Robin laughed delightedly. He'd practiced all day on what he'd say by way of introduction. "So…how do you want to do this? The easy way…or the hard way?"

"I don't _believe_ this!" Lynns yelled. First, Batman ruined his homecoming, and now this midget was threatening him? Not bothering to answer, Lynns ran at Robin.

The Boy Wonder giggled in amusement at the clumsy attack. He simply leapt up, somersaulted over the second-rate villain, and kicked him on the back of the neck. Landing easily on the balls of his feet, Robin whipped out his collapsed _bō_ staff, and lengthening it, twirled it expertly.

Lynns' fury had grown at Robin's taunting. "I'm gonna _kill_ you, you little punk!" Looking around, he spotted a heavy piece of pipe that someone had long ago discarded on the roof. Grabbing it, he approached Robin carefully with deliberate steps.

At Lynns' words, Robin had felt something tighten inside him. Those were almost word-for-word what Zucco had said to him. Abruptly, all the fun went out of his debut flight. He recalled Batman's last words before they'd climbed into the Batwing…

"Remember, Robin…this isn't a game. Garfield Lynns may be a second-rate criminal who thinks he's some kind of super-villain—calls himself _Firefly_—but he's still dangerous. Don't take him lightly. Stay focused. Bring him down and bring him in. Most importantly…" He ran his hand affectionately through Robin's hair. "Come back safe..."

Glaring across the roof at Lynns—the man who had burned down Diaz Instruments—Robin crouched and held the _bō_ staff at the ready. Playtime was over. This was business. Again, he narrowed his eyes at the echo of Zucco's words in his mind.

The next instant, Lynns attacked. He swung the heavy pipe with both hands like a baseball bat. He aimed for Robin's head but swung at empty air. The Boy Wonder had simply ducked; however, before Lynns could recover enough to take another swing, Robin counterattacked. He brought the staff down on Lynns' wrists with bone-bruising force. Lynns dropped the pipe, unable to hold onto it with his suddenly numbed hands. Robin leapt, spun in midair and kicked out with his steel-reinforced boots. This time he connected with Lynns' left temple.

Lynns cried out, collapsing in place. "I'll…kill you…you, punk…" he muttered. "Y'hear me…?" He fell unconscious.

Cautiously, Robin walked up to him. He poked Lynns with his _bō_ staff but received no response. Shrugging, Robin took out a plastic tie-wrap and zip-tied the pyromaniac. Standing and surveying his handiwork, Robin felt rather than saw the black shadow land behind him.

"Done?" the low, raspy voice asked.

"Uh-huh."

"The fire is under control now. Our work's done here."

Robin felt the familiar warm hand on his shoulder. Looking up at his mentor and father, he smiled proudly. "Can I fly us home?"

"Not in this lifetime."

"But it's my birthday."

"Not for the past ten minutes."

Robin checked his watch. Sure enough, it was ten minutes past midnight. He sighed. "Oh." He only half-listened as Batman called in the capture of the perpetrator.

"…On the roof. One package for pick up—Garfield Lynns…We'll be here."

A few minutes later, a graying and bespectacled gentleman in a light brown, trim overcoat stepped out onto the roof. He immediately caught sight of Lynns lying safely trussed up on the rooftop.

Following close behind him, a bull of a man with a perpetual scowl stepped out, service revolver drawn. The big man was also wearing an opened overcoat, but his was ill fitting and shapeless. As the coat was caught in the breeze, it revealed a loud suit jacket, clashing plaid shirt, and a loosened, food-stained tie. A toothpick sticking out of the side of his downward turned mouth completed the picture.

By now, Lynns was beginning to regain consciousness, groaning as he came to. "What happened…?" His eyes snapped open. "That little punk! I'm gonna kill 'im! And the Bat! He ruined my comeback! I'm gonna—!"

"You ain't gonna do nuthin', ya creep! 'Cept maybe go away for a long, long time." The big man looked around the rooftop, and glared in the direction he thought he spotted a dark shadow hidden among the rest of the shadows. "I got this, Cap'n Gordon. I'll wait for you in the squad car."

"Thanks, Bullock." Gordon looked out over the edge of the roof toward the still burning fires as he waited for Bullock to drag Lynns off the roof. "And you, my friend. Thank you, too. Not just for Lynns, but for helping put out the fire."

"Don't thank me for Lynns…I was busy."

"What? But if you didn't—?" Gordon turned, startled to find Batman almost next to him. He glared in annoyance, not bothering to say anything about Batman's ninja stealth. "So…if it wasn't you, then who?" Gordon's eyebrows shot all the way up to his hairline as the Dark Knight opened his cape slightly, revealing a young, masked boy hidden underneath. He looked from the boy to the Batman and back again. He attempted to speak, but knew he must look as ridiculously gobsmacked as he felt. "Who?"

"Hi! I'm Robin! I'm Batman's new partner." Robin grinned widely as he proffered his small, gloved hand. Gordon shook it wordlessly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. Batman says you're the best cop in Gotham."

"Robin." Batman's quiet voice stopped the boy from running off at the mouth. Smiling, Robin looked up his mentor.

"Well…you did."

Gordon watched fascinated as Batman's usually stern, hard features softened as he looked down at the boy. _His son_, Gordon realized. _The Dark Knight has a son_. _I hope you know what you're doing, my friend. _He returned the boy's smile. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Robin. Congratulations on your first collar." Robin beamed at the praise—in direct contrast to his much darker mentor. "Will I be seeing more of you?" Gordon looked between the Dark Knight and his squire.

"You bet! And before you know it…" Robin said as he took out his grappler. "Everyone's gonna hear about Robin the Boy Wonder!" He waved happily at Gordon as he shot up to the waiting Batwing.

Batman merely nodded at Gordon before he, too, fired his grappler and disappeared into the night sky. Gordon watched a moment longer, reflecting on the media frenzy when word of Batman and Robin spread in the coming weeks…

On the flight home, Robin grinned widely. "Thanks, Batman."

"For what?" Batman asked, keeping his eyes forward.

"For introducing me to Captain Gordon, and you know…making it official," Robin explained. Dick knew that if the GCPD only had Lynns' word of a boy vigilante, then they probably wouldn't have believed him. But with Gordon knowing of Robin's existence, then when—not if—the media got wind of him, Gordon would be ready to answer any questions. Also, by introducing Robin to him, it showed Batman was taking Gordon into his confidence, and as a result, winning him over before the media storm hit.

"It was your birthday," Batman said simply.

Robin grinned. "So…when do I get to meet Superman?"

"How about some flying lessons on the way home?" Batman offered instead.

"Yes!"

"Brat."

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**The End**

**~ / ~ / ~ / ~**

**Acknowledgements**: Some ideas and dialogue borrowed from _Batman: Dark Victory_ #8; _All Star Batman and Robin, the Boy Wonder _#9; _Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight_ #100; Gotham City map/points of interest from _Batman: Gotham City Secret Files and Origins_ #1; _The Brave and the Bold_ #28; _BTAS: Robin's Reckoning_ S2E2; _The Sandman_ #1.

A belated thanks to_ Wikipedia_ for its endless entries on all things DC-related, to include info on Firefly, Killer Moth, and Jerry Robinson—co-creator of Robin and the Joker.

**Additional Notes: **A special thanks to my beta Ellen. Her eagle eye for villainous grammar goofs makes Batman's detective skills pale in comparison.

Finally, thanks to everyone who stayed with the story up to the very end. It's hard to say good-bye to something that took over my life for the past month, but all good things must come to an end. I hope you enjoyed "(More) Pressing Matters" as much I've enjoyed writing it.

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to DC, Time Warner, and CN; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

**Copyright: October 2012**


End file.
